


Got to get you into my life

by Rioviolina



Category: The Beatles
Genre: #mention of non_consensual sex#mention of drug dealing#threats of violence# mention of depression#, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 68,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioviolina/pseuds/Rioviolina
Summary: An A.U. fiction about John and Paul, two very isolated characters, getting together. Plenty of angst will ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Never done an A.U. fic before, but this is hovering around in my head, so let's have a go.

Alone. Lonely. Single. Solo. Isolated. Deserted. John stared into his tepid beer and wondered how many adjectives he could come up with for the way he felt. Sad. Depressed. Despairing. Oh there must be more. Unloved. Oh yeah, now that's a good one. Unloved. He rolled the taste of it around his mouth. Nobody loves me. Nobody cares. Christ, could make a blues song outta that.  
Movement caught the corner of John's eye, and he glanced up to see Joe, the bartender, watching him. Joe raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment, and John raised his glass to him. Joe continued wiping down the same area of the bar he'd been wiping for the last few minutes, a faraway look on his face. John glanced round the crowded room. He came here because it was a bar that made no demands on you to socialise. True, there were couples, even a few groups of friends, but the whole place had a desultory feel to it. Conversations were murmured, laughter was limited. He wasn't the only guy sitting on his own having a drink. No one spoke to him, and he spoke to no one.  
On a small podium with guitar and mic sat the resident singer, who went under the name of Brent. John had never met anyone with this name, and assumed it a pseudonym. His music was laid back, a bit bluesy, sometimes a lazy jazz. It gave no concession to the music that was being played on the popular radio stations that youngsters listened to nowadays. He sang as if to himself, in his own world, a cigarette stuck behind his ear, his grizzled face that could be anywhere between thirty or sixty concentrating fully on his music. It mattered not to him whether anyone listened.  
John's eyes kept travelling through the dim atmosphere. Another pair of eyes met his. Someone else drinking alone. Another lost soul in life's story. Their glance connected, and John saw the guy's eyes widen momentarily, before lashes hid them. Then a couple moved in front of his view, and the guy could no longer be seen. John sighed, tapping his fingers on his glass. Why was he even here? Oh, yeah, to pick up some company. Well, not company so much as...well, as a fuck. That was what he wanted. Male, female, didn't really matter. Preferably male...they came with less baggage on the whole. Like him, most males wanted a quick release, not a long term relationship. Oh yes, John knew all about long-term relationships. He'd had one. Should still have one, except his partner had decided, one delightful spring morning six months ago, that John had too many faults to remain living with. John had woken up to an empty bed and a shopping list of character defects left on the kitchen table. Way to go!  
He stared morosely at his beer. Since then, his life had taken a downturn. He could no longer afford to rent the flat, and had had to move out. His face softened when he thought of Ritchie...what would he have done without his offer of a room in the little terrace house that Ritchie had scrimped and saved to buy? On top of that, Ritchie was a thoroughly nice guy, sympathetic to John's black moods, and understanding of the random fucks that John dragged up the staircase two or three times a week, never to be seen again. Random fucks, yeah. John rubbed his hands over his face. That's just what he needed now. Some sexual release. No strings attached. He glanced round, but couldn't tell who was waiting to be picked up and who wasn't. Closing time soon. The malingerers may provide an answer.  
Brent unplugged his mic and guitar and began packing away. He gave a nod to John. People began gathering coats, the October weather turning chilly. John felt the familiar hole inside him. Time to get back. At least Ritchie would worry if he wasn't there. One person. One person in the world.  
John stood up, and placed his empty beer glass on the bar. Joe nodded a wordless goodbye, and John nodded back. There were just a few stragglers left, gathering coats, wrapping scarves, collecting handbags, a few murmured goodbyes. Well, John hadn't pulled. Another lonely night. He knew Ritchie would be doing a night shift at the local hospital where he worked as a porter, so the house would be empty too. John thrust his hands into his coat pockets. He really didn't want to go back empty handed. He could feel his resentment burgeoning into a simmering anger. All he wanted was a fuck...  
He made it to the door, and his glance fell on a skinny guy that was leaning on the doorway. The eyes..familiar..yes, it was the guy he'd locked eyes with earlier. As John approached, the young man took his hands out of his pockets and stood up a little straighter, never taking his eyes off John. In the dim light all John registered was the large eyes, far too big for the thin face, and a shock of dark hair that fell into them. John's eyes bore into him, and he saw the young man's adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. But he didn't let go John's eyes. John gave him a small grimace, and raised his eyebrow questioningly. The young man gave the faintest of nods, and fell into step a few feet behind him.

Through the dingy terraced streets, John was aware of evenly matched footsteps behind him. His breath formed a mist in the air in front of him, and he could hear another's breathing like an echo. He resisted the temptation to turn around. He didn't want involvement. He didn't want conversation. His hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat, he fingered the keys that lay in there. Not far. Not far now. John opened a gate that led into a pocket handkerchief size garden, a few weeds and a dustbin the only decoration. The house was Ritchie's pride and joy, but work to pay the mortgage left little time for renovating or gardening. He twisted the key in the lock of the green front door, strongly aware of another's breath at the back of his neck. Once inside, he hung his coat on one of the few hooks that were positioned at the foot of the stairs, and turned to face his lay for the night.  
To his surprise, the young man was right behind him, literally at his shoulder. John stepped back slightly to survey him. His random lay was a somewhat pleasant surprise. The guy matched him well in height, although he was much more slenderly built...tending to look underweight, John thought,...but he was, for a guy, beautiful. John's gaze took him in, from head to toe, noting the too long, badly cut hair, the worn, frayed clothes, the dirty Converse. It struck John suddenly that maybe this guy was expecting money. Well..tough luck. John did not pay people for satisfying him.  
With a flick of his head, John indicated the narrow stairs. There was an almost interceptible nod in return. John headed up the stairs, a warmth swelling in his groin. He needed to feel. He needed to drive the pain of rejection away. He needed release..and he needed it now.  
As he closed the bedroom door behind them, he rounded quickly on the young man, who looked, for a moment, startled, but who seemed to swiftly acquiesce. John shrugged the young man's well-worn jacket off him, hardly noticing in his haste the sound of a few stitches tearing. The t shirt followed, being pulled over his dark head before he had time to blink. Next moment, John had him under his arms and forced him down on the bed. Catching his breath, the young man's hands went to help John remove his clothes, but John batted his hands away impatiently, and settled on undoing the zip of the young man's jeans. So impatient was John that he pulled down jeans and underpants in one go, the Converse getting caught. John swore, and yanked the plimsolls off with a curse, closely followed by jeans and pants into a heap on the floor.  
This was what John wanted..sex, quick and hot. He barely stopped to glance at the young man on his bed, just getting an image of long white limbs with a growth of thick black hair from navel to dick. John gave an urgent groan, paused only to lower his trousers, and without preparation drove into the young man. Beneath him, he felt a shift, and heard an exclamation that may, or may not, have been one of pain. But John didn't care. He held the slight figure down firmly, pushing on his shoulders, while he took him. He spilled his release, and dropped forward onto the body beneath him with an audible groan. Slowly, he caught his breath. John was well aware that the young man would not have received any pleasure from the fuck that had just taken place, but he couldn't feel guilty. He'd just had to do that. As his breath recovered, he traced his hand down the body beneath him, tangling his fingers in the curly hair. His hands found the young man's member..Christ, the guy was only slightly hard. John grunted, and began working the shaft with expert fingers. He took pleasure in feeling it grow beneath his fingers. He could feel and hear the young man's breathing becoming more rapid, until with a surge warm fluid was running over John's hand, between his fingers, onto long white thighs that were trapped under his own body. Silently, John rolled off him, handed over a tissue, and proceeded to clean himself up too. He removed his trousers, which were still caught around his knees, and in one swift action pulled off his check shirt and t shirt. He shoved the young man over to the other side of the narrow bed, and dug a space for himself. He flicked the switch off, and the room plunged into darkness. John gave a sigh. He'd achieved what he wanted..a random fuck. Now sleep.

It was probably the very early hours of the morning when John roused. Something had disturbed him. Oh, yeah, last night..someone in bed next to him. He could feel the warmth of another body. In the pale light he could see a long back with a knobbly spine. It occurred to John as a hazy thought that this guy was seriously underweight. As he became more alert, he realised that there was some shuddering..shit..John raised himself up to peer over...was this guy crying? All John could see was that the young man seemed to be gnawing his fingers..his knuckles?..in an attempt to stop the whimpering. John let himself drop back down. Should he feel guilty? There had been no discussion, no agreement. Not a word had been spoken. Just a mutual fuck, that was all. John mentally shrugged, shut his eyes, and drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, when he woke, the space next to him was empty. John raised his head and surveyed the floor. The only clothes left were his own. John slung his legs out of bed and made his way slowly down the stairs. The smell of bacon cooking called him. In the tiny gallery kitchen he found Ritchie, still with his porters' uniform on, doing a fry up. Ritchie's glance took in John's appearance, from the sticking up auburn locks to the bare feet below the dressing-gown.  
"Morning John..looks like you had a good night?" There was a gentle query in the tone. John scratched his head, adding to the chaotic mess that was his hair.  
"Mmm...what makes you think that, Ritch?"  
Ritchie looked at him closely.  
"Well, as I arrived home a very good-looking young man was just exiting the property...I assume he was to do with you?"  
"Ah..er, yeah, he was."  
"Hmm..scored there, haven't you. Are you seeing him again then?"  
John blinked."No..no plans. Why?"  
Ritchie looked slightly surprised.  
"Well..he looked your type, that's all. What was his name?"  
John helped himself to a mug of tea, and shrugged.  
"Dunno...didn't ask"  
Ritchie gave a wry smile.  
"Well, if I swung your way, mate, I'd go after him."  
John tried desperately to recall the young man's features. It had been dark. He only had a vague recollection. Also..he felt pretty rotten about how he'd treated the young chap. He'd been quite violent. It was just....John looked at Ritchie.  
"I don't wanna get involved with anyone again. I don't think I can go through all that shit again"  
Ritchie served himself a plate of bacon.  
"Whatever, John. I'm just saying..he looked nice, is all."


	2. When I get home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovering the backgrounds of the characters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So never done A.U. before..hope this all makes sense.

A short way across the city, a similar scene was being played out. George, flatmate of the young man who'd spent the night with John, was also cooking breakfast. Not bacon, for George was vegetarian. The tiny, and rather tatty, flat smelt strongly of spices...chilli, cumin, garlic, turmeric..all lingered in the air. Truth be told, George himself smelt continually of spices too. Apart from cooking with them when at home, he also cooked with them in the Indian restaurant he worked at , just round the corner. George adored all things Indian. One glance around the tiny flat would have told anyone that. Incense burners, Indian rugs, hangings on the wall, if it had a connection to India, it would be in the flat. He hummed as he worked, a tall, gangly young man with long hair parted in the middle and pulled into a pony tail which hung halfway down his back. Over his skinny denim jeans he wore a long, brightly embroidered shirt whose sleeves kept dangling in the cooking, turning them an interesting shade of yellow. Not that George minded...once he got hooked on all things Indian, including the religion and philosophy of the people, most worldly matters ceased existing for him. Gandhi, the tabby cat, wound himself around George's thin legs in the hope of a tasty titbit falling to the floor. How George managed to avoid treading on him was a miracle in itself.

As the door to their ground floor flat opened, George glanced up from his cooking. Paul, for that was the young man's name, hesitated slightly before closing the door behind him. He could feel George's eyes sweeping him, and knew for certain George would not have missed a thing. Paul shrugged off his thin grey jacket, a sleeve coming away from the shoulder seam where stitching had torn, and slung it on the back of one of the two plastic chairs that were positioned at an old formica top kitchen table. He slid onto one of the seats, folded his arms on the table, and buried his dark head down on them. The worn red t shirt, starting to go into holes, did nothing to hide the bruising that was scattered across Paul's arms and neck. George tightened his lips, but said nothing. He grabbed a mug that had a picture of an elephant on it, and proceeded to make Paul a cup of tea. He added milk and sugar, and pushed it across the table in the direction of his flatmate.  
"Paul? Tea"  
Paul started, his eyes faraway.  
"Oh,,thanks, Geo"  
He took the mug, sipping gratefully at the hot liquid. George turned off the gas, and slid into the seat opposite his friend.  
"You okay?" he enquired cautiously. He always felt the need to dance carefully around Paul least a sudden movement or word would scare him back into the shell he'd built to protect himself.  
The smile Paul gave George didn't quite reach his eyes, which were dark shadowed, as if he'd not slept.  
"Yeah, 'm'fine.."  
George reached across and took Paul's right hand. Paul went to tug it back, but George wouldn't release it. He sensed, rather than saw, Paul give in. George rubbed his thumb over the bloody knuckles and the chewed down nails.  
"What happened?"   
Paul shrugged. George saw his lips quiver, but the veil came down swiftly.  
"Nothing..nothing happened. M'okay Geo. Don't worry."  
"Where were you last night?"  
Paul's lips quirked "What are you, me keeper?"  
George didn't smile back, just looked closely at Paul, still holding the bloodied hand. Paul pulled his hand out of George's grasp, and ran his hands wearily over his face.  
"I worry about you"  
"Please don't.."  
"Paul, I can't help it. You come home all hours covered in bruises. What am I supposed to think? Are you letting guys take advantage.."  
"George, please.."  
"Look Paul, it doesn't matter to me what you are. You know that. Gay, straight, bi...whatever..it doesn't matter..but it does matter if you're getting beaten up."  
"I haven't been beaten up, Geo, honest, it was just...."  
Paul chewed his lip, and shrugged. Memories of the previous night flashed through his head. The urgency with which he'd been taken. Like someone was trying to lay demons to rest. He understood that. He often felt he had demons he needed to lay to rest as well. And he was tired. So tired. Not just a physical tiredness but a mental one too. George felt him sag.  
"Drink your tea, Paul. I'll do you some food." George stood up to carry on cooking.  
"M'not hungry.." George heard. He turned in disbelief.  
"Paul, you're going to eat. Understood? Then you're gonna get a bath. You don't take care of yourself. Someone has to."  
George's visage was glowering. Unusual for him. But he wasn't glowering at Paul. He was glowering at memories. Memories of how Paul used to be years before when they'd been friends at school. Glowering at the load of shit that had been dumped on a fourteen year old's lap before they had the skill to cope. He shrugged mentally to himself as he served Paul a plate of flavoured rice. Can't change the past. Just need to help him find a future.

********************

Ritchie put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of John, and sat watching with an air of amusement as it was swiftly devoured.  
"Work up an appetite last night then, did ya?"  
John sighed, and leaned back in his seat.  
"I had a different kind of appetite last night. And, yep, I reckon I managed to fill it"  
"Hmm" Ritchie hummed. This gay lifestyle that John led was a source of fascination to him. He had the odd girlfriend himself, certainly didn't find himself attracted to men, but was only too happy to chat with John about his passions..As long, that is, as John was in a chatty mood. He'd known John for a few years, ever since they kept bumping into one another at the local retro record store where it seemed they both had similar tastes. Judging by the fact they were both tugging on opposite sides of a Pink Floyd L.P. Later over a beer they'd found out they had other things in common. A love of Beano comics, dinky cars from the fifties, and a collection of hand knitted scarves in myriads of stripes. Ritchie had been there to pick up the pieces when John's lover had walked out on him, and there to offer him a roof over his head when he could no longer keep his flat. Despite the roller coaster ride of moods John presented to the world, Ritchie had managed to get underneath the anger to find the little boy who simply craved love. He knew the parents weren't around. He knew John had been raised by an aunt who threw him out when he declared his homosexuality. There seemed to be very few people in John's life, and his circle had become smaller and smaller until it came down to Ritchie.  
Ritchie felt this as a great weight on his small shoulders. He considered himself to be a very uncomplicated person. He went to work, a job he loved though not demanding, as a hospital porter where he met lots of colourful and interesting people. He had the odd date to cinemas or bars with different girls. He got on well with everyone, and although there was no one special in his life yet, he knew that one day he wanted a stable relationship and a family. He wished sincerely that John would find the same.  
While Ritchie had no immediate qualms about John's lifestyle, he was getting slightly concerned about the increasing amount of young fellas John kept bringing back. Never the same one twice.  
Now..last night's..well, Ritchie had seen him as he left. A step up from the usual ones...pretty, almost, if one could describe a fella like that. Also..there was something else about the young man that made Ritchie feel he could be good for John. He'd looked gentle. Most that John came back with looked as tough as John, and John could look tough. Particularly when he was in rocker mode with his leathers. Of course, underneath Ritchie knew there was a tenderness, and he wanted John to find a mate who would respond to that.  
"So...last night?" he quizzed John.  
John took a sip from his tea, and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Ritchie.  
"Last night?"  
"Yeah, that guy you had...where'd you find him?'  
"Oh..down at the Blue Lantern"  
Ah..yes, Ritchie knew that dive alright. Whatever you wanted, you could get it there. Drugs, fake passports, prossies, ... Ritchie felt a slight air of disappointment that the young man had been loitering in such a place. Maybe he wasn't as innocent as he'd looked after all.  
"Oh, right..regular there is he?"  
John leaned back and lit a cigarette. He shrugged.  
"Dunno..never noticed him before."  
"Was he, er..."Ritchie blushed, not quite sure how to ask this." suitable?"  
John snorted with laughter, his amber eyes crinkling in amusement.  
"Well, he had all the right attachments, you could say!"  
Ritchie blushed even more, and clammed up.  
John's mind did a rewind. He drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. Christ, he'd been in a foul mood last night. He felt a twinge of guilt over his behaviour, and the sudden memory of the young guy quietly crying in the middle of the night. Was it because of what he'd done? He dismissed the thought as swiftly as it came. He wasn't likely to ever see him again anyway, was he. He stubbed out his cigarette in the tea mug...Ritchie winced and turned a blind eye to the annoying habit.  
"So..what y'doing tonight then Ritch?"  
Ritchie brightened up.  
"Nothing planned. Got any ideas?"  
"Yeah, actually. Fancy an Indian? My treat...Got paid yesterday. There's that one in town called Shalimars..that's good..or, if you fancy a drink, there's that one not far from here. What's it called? They do takeaways too, I think. Ah, I know..Jasmine Cuisine. Sounds posh, dunnit? It's okay, though, and pretty cheap. Their tandoori is to die for..'ere, have a look..Got a menu on line. Fancy going?"  
"That a date your'e asking me on. John?"  
"Sure is, Ritchie"  
"Well, in that case, consider it accepted."


	3. Who's on the menu?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again..under somewhat different circumstances.

George wandered out of his bedroom, cat draped over his left shoulder, phone in his right hand, dark eyes glued on the text he'd just received. As he entered the cramped and colourful sitting room Gandhi took a flying leap, landing gracefully on the threadbare red settee that took up most of the room. Sitting in the middle of the settee, towel still draped around his body, sat Paul.  
His eyes were faraway, face blank, lost in a world of his own devising. George winced to himself, and pocketed his phone. Paul had been sitting there, unmoving, for the best part of an hour. George recalled a time when you couldn't get Paul to sit still for two minutes. His glance fell on his friend's body, so little hidden by the skimpy towel. He couldn't help but notice the bruises that bloomed across the pale skin. He worried. He was continually worried.  
George cleared his throat, hoping to get Paul's attention, but Paul gave no sign that he'd heard, his eyes still fixed on the brightly coloured wall in front of him.  
George tried again.  
"Paul? Mate?"  
Paul blinked, drawn back to the present. George indicated the damp towel.  
"Don't you think you oughta get dressed? A bit brief for October, I reckon" he added with a smile. Paul looked at him blankly, and drew the inadequate item closer around his body.  
"Are you okay?" George asked in concern. He saw the confusion cloud Paul's eyes.  
"Okay?" he queried.  
"You've been sitting there for at least an hour wearing nothing but that towel. Aren't you cold?"  
Paul's fingers clutched the edge of the towel, and he shook his head, his eyes skittering off to corners of the room. George sighed, then wished he hadn't, Paul would misinterpret the sigh as being impatience with his behaviour. Try again, George, he chided himself.  
"Are you working today?"  
Paul shook his dark head, not meeting George's eyes.  
"Not today, no, they don't need me"  
Paul had a job stacking shelves at the local Asian supermarket. It suited him fine as he didn't need to interact with customers, who spoke a different language anyway. What language Paul wasn't sure, and had never bothered to find out. His boss was called Ben Lee, and he was the only person Paul ever needed to communicate with. Paul would hump boxes, stack shelves, mop floors, do the most humdrum jobs, all for a basic pittance that enabled him to contribute towards the tiny flat in a rundown area that he and George shared. But it was a roof over his head, somewhere to come back to, somewhere to hide, and that was all that mattered to Paul.  
"So..do you fancy doing a bit of waiting on tables tonight then? Just had a text from Rami that he's short staffed" George saw the panic in Paul's eyes, but he ploughed on swiftly "I'll be there, I'm making some of the sauces tonight. You can come and go with me. Bit extra money for you"  
Paul fidgeted, his fingers endlessly twirling a corner of the towel.  
"I..I dunno" he almost whispered the response.  
"Aw, c'mon Paul..s'easy enough to do. S'not like you've not done it before. It'll be fun"  
Fun? Not Paul's idea of fun. But then he wasn't sure what he would describe as fun anymore. Unless it was being laid. But no, that wasn't fun either..it was just an urge..an urge to feel..to feel something other than this cloud of darkness. Even if sometimes it was pain.   
He chewed his lip. He didn't like letting George down.  
"What do I have to wear?" he asked quietly. Inwardly George rejoiced, but he tried not to show it.  
"Black t shirt and black jeans'll do fine. Rami will give you an apron."  
Paul nodded slightly. "Okay..Okay then"  
George patted his arm awkwardly.   
"Great..I'll let Rami know"  
"Shoes?" Paul looked panicked "I've only got..."  
"Converse'll do fine, don't fret"

***********************

"Tables booked for eight!" John shouted up the stairs. He could hear Ritchie opening and closing drawers in a panic, and John grinned to himself. Ritchie was such a girl when it came to going out. Socks had to match....John looked thoughtfully at his own feet..well, they were both blue..different shades..different pattern..hmm..ah well. And the scarves. John had a collection of nine multicoloured ones, all knitted by his aunt before she threw him out. He wrapped the black, blue and purple striped one round his neck. Vaguely he wondered which one Ritchie would choose. Poor chap hadn't long been back from work. He'd been called in cos they were short staffed. It had been busy at the hospital today, and he'd been rushed off his feet. Truth be told. Ritchie would rather have sank a pint and done his own meal tonight..a pie in the oven, a western on Netflix..he'd a been happy. But John wanted to go out. He wanted to do his level best to keep John happy. So out they were going.   
Ritchie came down the stairs, a red and green scarf wound innumerable times around his neck, and beamed at John as he drew on his gloves.  
"Okay, son, m'ready" Ritchie beamed at John as he descended the stairs.  
Now he was ready, he was looking forward to it. A date night...with Johnny boy! Ritchie suppressed a snigger.  
John looked closely at him.  
"What's the joke?'  
Ritchie shrugged.  
"Oh..nothing. just I'm not your usual date"  
John gave a wicked grin.  
"That's what you think, son"

***********************

Paul hung back behind George as they entered through the back door of the restaurant. Warmth and a smell of spices hit Paul's nose...a familiar smell, and reassuring, because it reminded him of George. He was so close on George's heels as they entered the kitchen that he walked straight into George's back when George suddenly stopped.   
George turned to look at him.  
"You okay?" he asked quietly.   
Paul was busy chewing his bottom lip and trying to disappear behind George. Before Paul could reply, Rami was there, all smiles and greeting.  
"Ah Paul, so good, so good you help us out. Most grateful. George, find him an apron, yes? Good, good. Pencils and paper pads are over there.. good, good, you know what to do. A drink? You need a drink?"  
Paul was quite overwhelmed by the unending babble of conversation, and quickly tied the proffered black apron around himself. George came to his rescue.  
"Here, Paul..look. These are the sauces I'm making. I'll show you before the rush starts."  
Soon George was showing Paul the different ingredients, and the restaurant began to fill up. Paul managed the first few orders effortlessly, having filled in before when they were short staffed. Soon he had a pile of orders pinned up in the kitchen, and was busy serving the few tables. Indian music played quietly in the background, and there was a murmur of conversation throughout the cosy building. Paul had begun to relax into the role of waiter, sharing duties with one of the regulars, Josh, who was a student at the University, with whom he shared snippets of chat whenever there was a lull.  
Josh came into the kitchen where Paul was catching up with George, who was busy stirring what looked to Paul like a vat of custard.  
"Paul, can you do the order for table eight? I've just sat them down, but I need to get water for another table"  
Paul pushed himself off the counter where he'd been leaning while he chatted to George.  
"Sure, no problem"  
He went through the swing doors and crossed the restaurant to table eight. He pulled the pad and pencil out of his apron pocket and faced the two guys who'd just sat down, and were busy unwinding long knitted scarves from round their necks.  
"Hi, can I get you a drink or...."  
Paul stopped dead, his breath caught at the back of his throat. Suddenly it was as if everything closed around him. The familiar rushing sound, a blackness, a tightness in his throat that restricted his breathing. A panic attack. He knew what it was, but that didn't help him take control. As everything began to spin around him, he was aware of strong arms encircling his body, George's voice in his ear. "It's okay, Paul, it's okay, just breathe..slowly, slowly..." His legs went from under him and he felt himself lifted, carried, then fresh air and George at his side, offering him water, soothing, calming. 

John and Ritchie sat down at the offered table, taking in the warmth, the music, the decor. They exchanged smiles, anticipating food and drink and an enjoyable evening together. The young man who'd shown them to their table was friendly and welcoming.  
"I've just got to fetch water for another table..I'll send Paul out to get you drinks. Bet you'd be glad of a bevvy, eh?" Josh had smiled.  
They'd both nodded in agreement, and as they began to divest themselves of their scarves and coats, another waiter had materialised at their side.  
"Hi, can I get you a drink or..."  
John had looked up at the dark haired young man, and recognition flooded his face. John saw an answering recognition in the waiter's eyes, which widened in alarm. Fight or flight .... he saw the young waiter pale, the pencil dropped from his fingers, his breathing hitched, ..it happened so suddenly..someone, a cook?, was at his side, strong and in control "Its okay, Paul, it's okay, just breathe, slowly, slowly.."

Ritchie looked at John, who coloured up.  
"You know him, don't you" Ritchie hissed as Paul was lifted swiftly into the kitchen.  
"He's one of your fu..."  
"Ritchie, ssh.."  
"Last night..this morning.."  
"I had no idea.."  
"Obviously. I'm sure you would not have chosen.."  
"D'you wanna go?"  
Ritchie slumped. Suddenly he had no appetite. Around them he could sense the other customers watching curiously.   
Ritchie nodded. "Yeah..let's just go, eh? Don't seem hungry anymore."  
Josh hurried out as they began to collect their coats.  
"Are you alright? I'm so sorry, not sure what happened there. Paul must have felt faint..please, sit down, let me..."  
John raised his hand to stop the tirade.  
"S'okay, mate, no problem. Not your fault. We just changed our mind. Thanks anyway"

They were out the door, into the cold night air, and halfway home before they communicated.. It was Ritchie who spoke first.  
"The waiter..." he felt John shift uncomfortably by him.."...He was your lay from last night, wasn't he?"  
John huffed. "Maybe..didn't look that close"  
Ritchie heaved a big sigh.  
"Well, I did. I saw him in the cold light of morning, don't forget, and unless he's got a double, that's the guy that left our house this morning"  
"So what if he was?" John was on the defensive.  
"So why did he panic when he saw you?"  
John shrugged. "I dunno"  
"John, you didn't hurt..."  
"What you saying, Ritchie? That I beat people up? Is that what you're saying? Look, he was just a fuck, okay? I don't know him, didn't know his name. Told you before, I don't want any relationships...now, leave me alone!!"  
With a shout, John threw his arms in the air, as if to ward off any further discussion, and stormed off, leaving Ritchie standing on the pavement on his own.


	4. For me blue

For the next few days, Ritchie trod very carefully around John. He felt as if he was walking on egg shells. In turn, John kept a low profile, avoiding Ritchie as much as he could. Why, he didn't know. Was it because he was unwilling to discuss his chosen lifestyle? Talk about his "boyfriends"?. Relationships? John didn't want relationships...that was what he kept saying. So why did his mind keep replaying that little scene from the restaurant the night before. That young guy...Paul..those wide eyes looking at John. Fuck! Why the hell did he keep thinking about him? He didn't owe him anything. He was fairly sure he hadn't hurt him..He certainly hadn't meant to, though if he thought back to the night in question he knew, deep down, he'd been impatient. But...John's mind went in endless circles. He felt very unsettled. Also, he knew well that Ritchie was avoiding him and that just made him feel even more guilty.

Meanwhile Ritchie too kept replaying the restaurant scene in his head. He had seen the recognition on both their faces, and the effect it had had on Paul. He really wanted to believe John. In fact, he desperately wanted to believe John. He couldn't bear to think that John would willingly hurt anyone. He wished to God he could put it out of his mind. It was unsettling, disturbing, mithering him when he needed to concentrate on his work. Finally, after about three days of tiptoeing around in the house, he cornered John in the kitchen.  
"John, we need to talk"  
He saw the heavy lids drop over the amber eyes. John was instantly on guard.  
"What about?"  
"About why we aren't talking. About what happened the other night. About why you're avoiding me...."  
"M'not avoiding you. You're avoiding me."  
"And about that waiter that had a panic attack when he saw you"  
"That was nothing to do with me" John's colour rose along with his temper. "I've told you, I didn't do anything to that kid. I dunno why he behaved like that! Why for fucksake don't you bloody believe me!"  
It didn't take a magician to see that John sincerely meant what he said. Ringo slumped down at the kitchen table by John, and ran a hand wearily over his face.  
"M'sorry, John, I just can't get the incident out of me mind."  
John immediately softened.  
"S'okay Ritchie. Not your fault. I've been a proper git."  
They smiled wryly at one another.  
"I worry about you" Ritchie said softly, his big blue eyes tender.  
"Don't, Ritchie, I'm not worth it."  
"You are, John. You deserve happiness. I wish you could meet someone who really appreciated you."  
"I do have someone..I've got you"  
"Not in that way, y'daft sod. Y'know what I mean."  
"Yeah, well, like I said, I don't want another relationship. Don't think I could cope again. Reckon I'm just gonna stick with you"

*******************

"How y'feeling?" George's concerned eyes scanned his friend's face. He'd managed to get Paul home by half lifting, half carrying him, and despite the fact Paul weighed very little, George was glad to lower him onto their settee. He slid down beside Paul, and surveyed him closely.  
Paul felt exhausted. Panic attacks always left him completely drained. He didn't even have the energy to respond to George.  
"Shall I get a doctor?"  
Paul shook his head, and closed his eyes.  
"What brought that on, Paul?" George asked. Paul couldn't reply. He just needed to..needed to...with a slight groan he turned onto his side and curled up into a tight ball. George sighed inwardly. He stood up and fetched a blanket off Paul's bed, which he tucked round the comatose figure. He sat down again, near to Paul's feet, and placed his hand on the blanketed figure. Quietly he hummed a melody. It was all he could think to do. Gandhi the cat, attracted by the cosy picture that was presented, leapt up on George's knee and harmonised with a purr. In the low light George sensed Paul's breathing slow, and a few minutes later George knew he was asleep.   
George continued sitting, calming his mind. He tried to think logically. Paul had been doing so well that evening. What on earth had caused him to suddenly panic? The occurrence was yet fresh in George's mind...Josh had come running into the kitchen, and George had immediately deserted his cooking to give aid. Paul had dropped to his knees and had been struggling for breath, his eyes wide and panicked. George, with Rami's help, had carried Paul through the kitchen and outside into the fresh air. This was not the first time George had seen Paul like this. The attacks came out of the blue, but always there would be a trigger. Something would have stressed Paul. But what? George absent mindedly petted Gandhi while he dwelled on the last few hours. Had someone said something to upset him? He didn't think any customer would have. Most of their clientele were friendly and easily pleased. So what had happened?

***********************

"Paul, a delivery is coming in. I want those shelves cleared" Ben instructed. Paul nodded, and began taking off all the old stock. A couple of women were chatting in an unrecognisable language as he began clearing the shelves. He pushed his long black fringe out of his eyes and looked up when he heard a familiar voice.  
"Got any fresh ginger, mate?"  
A smile lit up Paul's face.  
"Hi, Geo...what y'doing here?"  
"Looking for ginger, mate, just said. How y'doing?"  
Truth be told, George had deliberately gone to the supermarket to check on Paul, but the ginger provided him with an excuse.  
"M'okay." George's glance swept over Paul swiftly. Paul wore a brown workcoat over his clothes, with the usual Converse, now looking very worn, peeping out from under his jeans. "The ginger's over there if you want some" Paul waved vaguely in the direction of the fresh produce.  
"Are you coming home later?"  
Paul's smile fell slightly. "I...I dunno..not sure. Are you home?" There was a trace of hope in that question, and George winced when he had to reply in the negative.   
"I'm working, Paulie...be home about eleven, I guess"  
George saw the hope fade from Paul's eyes, and his heart sank.  
"Oh..right..well, I dunno. I might, erm, go out..I'll see"  
George sighed. "Paul...."  
"I'll be okay, Geo. Honest."  
George wished he could just keep Paul with him. Keep him safe. He knew only too well what "going out" meant in Paul's vocabulary.  
"Paul..."he cautioned.  
"I'm fine...I'll be fine, okay?"  
George gave a twisted smile.  
"You better be. Just...come home, yeah?"  
"Mmm...maybe...I'll see."  
With that, George had to be content. He felt so frustrated. Why did Paul feel the need to allow himself to be picked up by other men who were just looking for sex, no strings attached. He was worth more than that. Then again, George mentally shrugged, Paul had such low self-esteem he didn't consider himself worthy of anyone's attention, let alone love.  
"Paul..just, ..take care, yeah?"  
Paul smiled reassuringly at George.  
"Course I will, please don't worry"

*******************

Paul had no idea what drove him out of the flat into the cold October night. He pulled on a coat that belonged to George, as his own grey jacket was insufficient for the weather, as well as looking worse for wear with a sleeve that was beginning to detach. His feet were cold in the grubby white Converse with soles almost worn through.  
He directed his feet down towards the area around The Blue Lantern and the other bars around that area. He had very little money, enough maybe for one drink, so he thought he'd loiter for a while first, watching couples going out together, watching friends greeting each other. In his head he gave them destinations to go to, plans, parties, homes. Home. There was a twist in Paul's gut. Home. A flood of memories that Paul couldn't halt filled his mind. So many memories. Paul choked on a sob that rose involuntarily to his throat. Don't give in..stop...move..do something. Paul turned, and found a guy watching him. Paul halted, wary. Was this it? Did he? The guy offered a smile, although it seemed rather cold and forced. Paul moved hesitantly towards him, and the man gave a slight nod and started walking. Paul fell into step a few yards behind, feeling his pulse raise. The adrenaline began to flow. Feeling. Feeling something. To feel was good. He ceased to notice the cold air, his cold feet, the numbness in his body.   
He turned close on the heels of the guy that was ahead of him down a dingy alley. Suddenly arms grabbed him from behind and he was slammed forcefully against a wall. "Queer" hissed a voice, and a vicious punch to his gut followed. He would have collapsed but arms held him. His head was slammed back against the wall again and for a second he felt sick and saw stars. "Fag" someone else taunted. Paul tried to struggle, but there were at least two, possibly three, figures. A couple of violent blows across his face, he could taste blood, then he was down on his knees and being kicked and punched while names were called. "Queer boy..fag...poof..fairy.." Paul flung his hands over his head, trying to protect himself, but he could feel himself slipping, going, blackness, black, black.....


	5. When the rain comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Ritchie meet

"Cor, it's bloody awful out today. Better if you're a duck" Ritchie joked as he shook off his wet coat. His friend Jack beamed at him.  
"Not half as bad out as its been in here. I should think half of Liverpool went out on the lash last night. We've run out of beds in the wards and we've got trolleys queuing up in the corridors."  
"No way? Shit."  
"It's been bloody hectic. I'll be glad to get home, I tell you. Union's moaning about cutbacks again, as always."  
"That bad, huh?"  
"Not good. I'll see you later. Have a good day." With a wave, Jack was gone.  
Ritchie buttoned his green work overall up, ran his fingers through his damp hair, and set off to find his supervisor.  
"Morning Trevor"  
The supervisor looked up with a beaming smile, a piece of paper in his hand covered in scribbles and crossing out.  
"Ah, morning, Ritchie. It's gonna be a busy one I reckon."  
"Yeah, Jack said. Busy night, eh?"  
"Mad. Bloody mad. Glad me shift's nearly over. Right....Ritchie, let's see." He perused the handwritten list that would probably have been indecipherable to anyone except him.  
"Okay, so..Tom has got twelve...d'you think you could do ten? There's about four or five trolleys waiting for space on the wards. Try and keep their pecker's up eh?" Trevor looked hopefully at Ritchie.  
"Oh, I reckon I can. I'll tell 'em a few jokes 'n' cheer 'em up."  
Trevor jokingly hid his face in his hands.  
"Oh heaven help us."

Grinning broadly, Ritchie made his way over to corridor ten. He hummed quietly to himself as he travelled through the familiar corridors. When he reached his destination he could see five trolleys lined up, one behind another, with either relatives or friends at three of them. They glanced up hopefully as he approached. He gave them a wry smile.  
"Sorry, sorry, we're doing our best to find room. As soon as we can we'll get them moved."  
Ritchie hastened over to one of the two trolleys that had no one with them. An elderly man, who seemed fast asleep, occupied one. After making sure he was warm enough, Ritchie moved to the next one.  
Dark hair, blanket pulled up to chin. Something twisted in Ritchie's gut before he even looked. The face was so bruised and battered it was almost unrecognisable, but Ritchie knew him. The young waiter from a few nights ago. Although he'd been reasonably cleaned up, there was still blood across his face, and his hair had been shaved above his ear to allow for a line of stitches. His eyes were tight shut and he breathed between parted lips. Ritchie laid a bet his nose was busted.   
A smell caught Ritchie's nose...spices?...and a shape suddenly materialised beside him. A tall skinny guy wearing colourful clothes and smelling like a curry.  
Ritchie glanced up with a smile, then faltered. There was something slightly familiar about this guy...He couldn't quite place him. But he had warm, smiling eyes, and these he turned on Ritchie.  
"Hi..is there a bed for Paul yet?" Despite his flamboyant clothing, the voice was very Scouse. Ritchie blinked.  
"Oh, er. no, sorry, really sorry..we're just so busy."  
George smiled "S'okay, not your fault mate."  
"Are you with, erm, .." Ritchie indicated the sleeping figure.  
"Paul" George offered "His name's Paul, and yes I am."  
"What happened?"  
George shrugged. "Dunno..looks like someone..well, more than one....have done him over."  
George tenderly pushed some hair off Paul's face, and Ritchie felt another twist in his gut.  
"Are you, er,.." he wasn't sure how to put it ."friends?"  
The smile George gave told Ritchie he knew what he was thinking. There was compassion and understanding in the dark eyes.  
"Yeah, we are..he's my flatmate. Been friends since school days"  
Ah! Ritchie got it. He cleared his throat.  
"I've seen you before, actually..the other night. I was with my friend at a restaurant and Paul was our waiter..well, until he, erm,..well.."  
Realisation dawned on George's face.  
"Oh..you're the couple who..Oh, right. Yeah, well..sorry about that.."  
Ritchie hummed.  
"I, er, need to go chat to everyone. Soon as we have space we'll get Paul in."  
George nodded. "Course you will. Thanks"

***********************

Ritchie stirred his tea thoughtfully. John wasn't yet home and Ritchie was debating with himself whether or not to tell John about Paul. In the end he decided not to...not yet, anyway. Whenever he'd mentioned Paul's name it always seemed to create a bone of contention, and as they were living in reasonable harmony at the moment he didn't want to upset the equilibrium. He decided to himself though that he would keep an eye on Paul and monitor his progress. If asked, he had no idea why he should feel this involvement..or what it was that sparked his interest. He'd liked George though. There was a steady presence within that colourful clothing.

Afternoon visiting coincided with Ritchie's tea break, and he determinedly headed up to Ward Ten to check on Paul. He found George already there, sitting quietly beside the sleeping figure, holding one   
of Paul's hands. He looked up and smiled at Ritchie and didn't seem at all surprised to see him there. Ritchie gave an answering smile and slipped into the adjacent chair.  
"How's he doing?"  
George shook his head. "They say he has really bad concussion and a fractured skull. He's also got a couple of broken ribs and internal injuries." George turned to face Ritchie. "I dunno how anybody could do this. Paul would never hurt a fly."  
"Do they know who?..."  
George shook his head. "No, and they probably never will. I don't think Paul is likely to be high on anyone's list of priorities."   
It was said so matter of factly it hurt.  
Ritchie patted George's arm.  
"I've gotta go, it's me tea break and I'm back on in a minute, but if I can do anything to help?...."  
George's smile was like the sun coming out.  
"Thank you. I appreciate that, and I know Paul'd say the same."

It was three days before Ritchie got chance to see Paul again because of how his shifts and tea break times worked, but on this particular day he'd finished early and there was almost an hour of visiting time left, so he headed up quickly to Ward Ten. There were visitors at most of the beds, but no one at Paul's. Ritchie hurried over, it never occurring to him for one moment that Paul may wonder why a complete stranger was visiting him. The young man was propped up slightly by pillows and appeared to be asleep, but as Ritchie slipped into the chair, his eyes fluttered open. Upon seeing Ritchie there was momentary confusion, and a slight frown creased his features.  
"Hullo Paul..you don't know me, but I work here and I, er, I met George when you were brought in. I remember you from the restaurant and I said to George I'd try to keep an eye on you."  
Paul's dark eyes didn't leave Ritchie's face for a moment during that short introduction. Ritchie squirmed slightly, unsure of how to continue.  
"George not here today then?"   
Ritchie tried to see past the injuries to the young man behind them. Paul shook his head slightly, then winced from the movement.  
"No" the voice was no more than a whisper " he has to work."  
"How are you feeling?" This was going to be difficult. Ritchie could sense the reluctance of Paul to talk to someone he didn't know. He saw Paul shift slightly in bed, uneasy.  
"M'okay, thanks."  
Well, yeah, right, okay didn't seem to describe what Ritchie was looking at.  
"Do you know who did this?"  
Now that did put Paul on the spot. His eyes skittered off to a distant corner of the ward, and Ritchie didn't get a reply. He tried again.  
"Have the police made enquiries..."  
"Look, please..I..I don't know what you want, but..."  
"Paul, I don't want anything. This is just a visit. If you want me to go.."  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, but..but I don't..I can't.." Paul turned away, struggling.  
Ritchie dived into the bag he carried.  
"Here...I got you some grapes. When I was little I spent a lot of time in hospital, and I was always brought grapes. Do you like grapes?"  
Ritchie saw the flash of surprise in Paul's eyes that he'd been given something.  
"Thank you"  
"Its okay" Ritchie smiled.  
"Why did you spend a lot of time in hospital?"  
Ah..conversation. Ritchie felt suddenly optimistic. Right, I'll talk about meself then, if that helps.   
Ritchie found himself giving Paul his life story, all about his mum and his home in the Dingle, his interrupted schooling due to illness, and about his grandfather who'd taught him to read. He avoided asking Paul anymore about himself as he didn't want to scare him away. Once Paul felt safe, he proved a good listener and asked various questions about things Ritchie mentioned. The conversation became pleasant and relaxed, and it came as a surprise to both of them when the bell rang for the end of visiting time.  
"Have you got visitors tonight?"  
"Yeah, George will be coming. He's not working tonight."  
"Anyone else?"  
Paul hesitated before replying "There isn't really anyone else."  
Ritchie didn't push.


	6. When the chips are down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Ritchie talk.

One thing John could say with absolute certainty was that he loved his job. He was the only employee at Rob's Retro Records, the place he and Ritchie had originally met. Not that he had been working there at that particular moment in time, no, but he'd been such a regular customer that eventually Rob, who owned the shop, asked John if he'd like to help out over weekends. The weekends became weekdays too when John threw up the job he hated, working in the offices at Liverpool Council. He chucked out the pen pushing for record spinning. He was much poorer but oh! so much happier. He felt there he could be himself. Also he had great rapport with Rob, the owner of the shop, and all the many regulars who entered the cluttered little shop that still had a bell that tinkled every time the door opened. Rob himself was a larger than life character. He dressed in cowboy style gear, his long hair dyed various shades according to season and whim. He lived above the shop with his long-term boyfriend, who was the exact opposite. Jacob was smart and demure, and worked as a solicitor for a local firm in town. They looked complete opposites, but were very content, and had been for many years.  
This was the kind of relationship John had originally craved. Well, thought he had had until his partner had suddenly left. It still caused a twinge in John's gut. Did he really have all those defects? And even if he had, wouldn't love have overcome them? Well, Andrew obviously hadn't loved him enough. He'd left John and two months later, so John had heard, was in another relationship that he'd described to a mutual friend as being "far superior" to that of John. The barb had hurt, and John had spent the last six months venting his anger on other guys.  
Not that the other guys had seemed to care. They'd been a tough lot..some of them very domineering, which John occasionally found fulfilling...at least, for the short time he was with them. Others wanted to be dominated. Rarely were words exchanged. Sometimes it was the nearest alleyway or door, sometimes it was his place...well, Ritchie's...or their's. John had formed a hard shell over his feelings. Use and be used. Just in it for that brief moment of release. So, it seemed, were the other guys.  
For a second, another face swam into his mind, dark haired, wide eyed, but John pushed it away quickly. No involvement. Never again.

********************

Ritchie bumped into George as he finished his shift and George was just leaving at the end of visiting.  
"Hey...George!" Ritchie called, recognising the lanky figure with shaggy brown ponytail. George stopped and looked round, his face breaking into an enormous smile.  
"Hiya, mate. Paul said you'd visited him yesterday." George gave Ritchie an unexpected hug, which startled him somewhat. "Much appreciated. That was really kind of you."  
Ritchie blushed. Unusual for him. To be enveloped in a bear hug of Indian spices and hair was not the norm.  
"Oh, it's..okay, y'know." he mumbled. He cleared his throat.  
"How's he, er, y'know., er..doing, like?" He flustered. George didn't seem to notice his discomfiture.  
"Ah, well...it's gonna take him a long time to get better, I reckon. Whoever's responsible, well..dunno..just trying to keep him going, like. Don't want him to just..give up."  
Ritchie picked up on the hesitation.  
"Y'see..." George looked closely at Ritchie." haven't had the heart to tell him he's lost his job. They say they can't wait till he's better, that they'll have to get someone else....."  
"They can't do that " Ritchie butted in." You can't sack someone because.."  
"Ritchie, he was casual staff. No contract. I'm afraid they can. And if they can't, well, they'll still do it. It wasn't much of a job anyway, stacking shelves. Paul's worth more than that."  
"What'll he do, y'know, for money, when he comes out?"  
George shrugged. "Dunno, but I won't see him on the streets. Probably get a bit of work at the restaurant..."  
Realisation dawned on Ritchie's face.  
"I thought he did work there...."  
"Oh, right, the waitering..nah, he just does the odd bit when we're stuck. Here, look, I've gotta go, the cat needs feeding and I've got work tonight, but I'm finishing about nine, should do, anyway. It looks like a quiet night. I just wondered if..well, it's a bit cheeky...but d'you feel you could visit Paul again? N'maybe, after, we could meet up for a drink..if you'd like..let me know how he is?"  
Ritchie could see the pleading hope in George's eyes. Anything and everything he'd planned for that night went out the window. He beamed at George.  
"Sure..No problem"

********************

When Ritchie entered Ward Ten a little after the start of visiting time, Paul's was the only bed with no one beside it. But the difference was that Paul was sitting up flicking through a magazine. Ritchie strode swiftly across to the bedside, and Paul looked up, his face lighting up when he saw Ritchie. He'd known George was at work and hadn't expected to see anyone. Also he hated the unspoken sympathy that wafted his way from the other patients and visitors, so he'd deliberately hidden behind a magazine and put on an indifferent attitude.  
"Hiya, how you feeling?" Ritchie sat down on the plastic chair, shrugging off his coat. To his surprise, Paul smiled.  
"I'm feeling much better, thanks. Good to see you. You don't have to, y'know..."  
"Nonsense. Saw George earlier. I said I'd come, then we're meeting up for a drink. I'm reporting back on you. Oh, yeah, here....."Ritchie rummaged in the carrier bag, and brought out with a flourish..." Ta da...grapes...and, wait..."he rummaged deeper.."..chocolates."  
"You shouldn't have..honest..I don't..really.." Paul was flustered, unaccustomed to gifts.  
"Well, y'see, Paul..." Ritchie indicated the chocolates.."I like the strawberry cream, and I thought maybe.."  
Paul smiled, laid down the magazine he'd been reading, and began unwrapping the box of chocolates. Ritchie pointed at the magazine.  
"What you been reading, then?"  
Paul's eyes followed Ritchie's finger.  
"That? Oh..it's on Indian cookery."  
Ritchie looked closely at Paul, Paul caught his eye, and they both burst out laughing.  
"George gave it to me" Paul explained.  
"Figured that! What do you like reading?"  
Paul considered Ritchie's question.  
"Reading? I..I don't do much reading. I used to, but..."  
Ritchie noticed Paul had a habit of not finishing sentences.  
"I've got some books you can borrow if you'd like. D'you like thrillers?"  
Paul shook his head no.  
"Sci-fi, fantasy, horror?" Still a no.  
"What about magazines, then, like Chinese cookery?"  
Paul giggled, and Ritchie pressed on swiftly.  
"Carpentry? Dog handling?"  
Paul batted him with the magazine.  
"Okay, sorry, just teasing. What about music?" ....ah, Ritchie saw a flash of interest..."d'you like music? I've got some old Mojo magazines at home. Shall I bring them?"  
Paul nodded, "That would be good, thanks. I used to play......." He stopped. Ritchie waited. Finally, he gave a push.  
"What did you play, Paul?"  
Paul blinked at him, confused. Had he said?...  
"You said you used to play?"  
He'd lost Paul. The dark eyes were veiled. The voice dropped to a whisper. He wouldn't meet Ritchie's gaze.  
"..nothing...s'nothing..."

***************

" 'ere you go, mate" George sploshed down a pint in front of Ritchie, who quickly shifted backwards before it went all over him. He didn't fancy his clothes smelling of lager, but it was obvious from George's food stained bright red shirt he didn't have the same qualms. "So..how was he?"  
How was he? How to answer that. What a complex mix of moods Ritchie had encountered.  
"Well..he..was good to start with then....Jesus, George, just what has gone on in his life?" Ritchie hadn't meant to blurt that out, but out it now was. George didn't seem surprised. Took a sip of his beer and simply replied  
"Its a long story."  
Ritchie shook his head. "One you can share?"  
George shrugged. "Depends."  
"Depends on what?"  
"On why you want to know. Why you feel involved. After all, I'm nothing to you, and neither is Paul. So?..."  
George looked inquiringly at Ritchie, and Ritchie felt as if those dark eyes were looking into him. Exposed.  
Okay, truth, then. Ritchie shifted uncomfortably in his seat  
"When we came to the restaurant that night...." he began  
George paused, watching,  
"I'd seen Paul already that day. He was leaving my house. I was just getting back from a night shift."  
George was still listening, and offered no encouragement.  
"He passed me in the hallway..He didn't say anything..just sorta slipped past me and out."  
"D'you have a flatmate?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Yeah. It's my house. John shares. He's got a room. It's just.." Ritchie felt really uncomfortable bringing this up "...when Paul came to serve us it was pretty obvious he recognised John...that's my housemate..and then he seemed to panic. I tackled John about this..He swears he didn't do anything to hurt Paul, but....I'm confused, George.." Ritchie subsided. "And I guess I felt guilty when Paul had that panic attack..it was my house he'd been at and I don't know what went on."  
"So that's why you've been interested?"  
Ritchie looked closely at George.  
"You've gotta believe me on this, George...originally, yes, but now I've got to know you and Paul and it's gone beyond that."  
George took a sip of his beer and nodded. He could accept that. He sighed.  
"It's a long story, like I said" he glanced at his watch. "What you doing after this? Fancy coming back to my place?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Yeah..Yeah, sure"  
George grinned at Ritchie.  
"Promise I won't jump your bones!"


	7. In my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short , wordy, necessary!

George pushed a mug of coffee across to Ritchie.  
"'Ere y'go, mate, this alright?"  
Ritchie took a sip and winced slightly. The coffee had a slight taste of cumin, plus other flavours, that were distinctly not coffee. George's eyes narrowed to a questioning frown.  
"Is it okay?"  
Ritchie gave a beaming smile.  
"Lovely, ta, just what the doctor ordered"  
George smiled, relieved, and turned to make his own coffee.  
Meanwhile Ritchie took the chance to glance around the tiny flat. The smell of spices had assaulted his senses as soon as he'd walked in the door, but it was all very colourful and homely. Just as he'd expected it to be.  
"Lived here long?" Ritchie enquired.  
George stirred his coffee as he thought, slipping into the seat opposite Ritchie at the tiny table.  
"Mmm...nearly two years. It's cheap, and handy for the restaurant."  
"Worked there a while, have you?"  
"Since I left school at sixteen. I used to do a bit of waitering when I was still at school, and Rami started showing me how to make some of the food." George gave a shrug. "Just fell into doing it. I love Indian food, and the people, and the culture.." with each statement George's grin got bigger and bigger. He flung his hands out to encompass the whole of the flat, nearly knocking over Ritchie's coffee as he did so..." as you can see!!"   
The cat leapt up onto Ritchie's lap and rubbed it's head against his hand. Ritchie could feel so much love and warmth in this little place.  
"So..this is where Paul lives, too?" Ritchie glanced around, wondering how they fitted in. George pointed over to a closed door.  
"Yeah, that's Paul's room. It's not really much of a room, more a closet, but we managed to squash a camp bed in there. It's a roof over his head, and that's what matters."  
"No family then?"  
"Paul? Oh, yeah, he has. He's got a dad who doesn't want to know and a brother a couple years younger who's away at university and doesn't bother coming home."  
Ritchie took a sip of his coffee. Slowly he was getting used to the flavour. He looked at George.  
"So...what happened?"   
George reached over and stroked the cat, playing for time as he wondered where to start. He gave a wry smile.  
"S'not a pretty story..." he warned. Ritchie gave him a sympathetic smile of encouragement.  
"I first met Paul when I started high school and I travelled in on the same bus as him. He's a few months older than me, and he was in the year ahead. We both liked music, got chatting, hit it off, and for the next few years we were joined at the hip. He was very outgoing and popular...and clever. He was in the top stream. His mam was lovely..she was a nurse and had high hopes for him. She wanted him to be a doctor. He always used to pull a face behind her back when she said this, but he never seemed to object. He was her pride and joy, could wind her round his little finger. He's got a brother, Mike. They don't look alike at all, but they got on well enough. We used to play our guitars together, sometimes his place, sometimes mine." Ritchie shifted slightly. That explained something straight away. George looked up at Ritchie. "He was a good musician, y'know. Really talented. Could get round the piano an' all."  
"Sounds idyllic.."Ritchie mused. George nodded.  
"Yeah, it was. Then it all went to shit"  
"What happened?"  
"His mam died. It was sudden. One day everything was fine, then she's ill, then she's dead. It hit them all really hard, especially Paul. He was just fourteen. Paul's dad didn't cope at all. I mean..I think he tried, but it's like he forgot he'd got a couple of school age children that needed looking after, and it all started to fall on Paul. Also his mam had been the main breadwinner, so they found themselves a bit short on the old....." George jingled the coins in his jacket pocket. "Paul got himself a few jobs to help out, but it was hard, between school work and a younger brother who needed help with his homework. And then Paul's dad started drinking. That's when it got really bad."  
George sipped his coffee, managing to drip some down the front of his shirt.  
"Me mam was brilliant. She'd always loved Paul, and she'd send round food. I used to be so embarrassed! She'd pack me off to school and give me a pie to pass to Paul.."he shook his head at the memory.  
"Paul sacrificed his own talents to make sure his brother was okay and had all he wanted. Protected him from their dad when he'd had one too many. Of course, Paul's own marks slipped, and he ended up finishing school with very little to show. He had a series of dead end jobs. The family still needed Paul to earn the money, and that's when Luke came into his life. Paul would have been about seventeen, nearly eighteen, when he met Luke. Luke was ten years older. He flattered Paul, made a lot of him, took him out, bought him drinks. Paul hadn't had this much attention in a long time.  
Paul had always known he was gay, but he'd never had any boyfriends. Suddenly he had this suave twenty-eight year old all over him. I didn't like it. I got really worried but he wouldn't listen to me. And then one night Luke turned up at Paul's house to pick him up. Well, Paul's dad didn't like that. It was pretty obvious what Luke was, and suddenly Paul's dad was confronted by the fact he had a queer for a son, and he threw Paul out."  
George fondled the cat, his mind remembering....  
"So...this here Luke, with his flashy car and penthouse flat by the docks, he steps in and offers Paul somewhere to live. I didn't see a lot of Paul after that. Just the odd occasion, but if I tried to talk to him he always seemed evasive. I didn't know what was going on....no one did, really. Me mam used to ask me, but..." George shrugged. "Paul's brother went to live with a relative somewhere down south who'd latched on to the fact there were problems. That meant Paul no longer had any strings to tie him down, and it was ages till I saw him again."  
George continued fondling the cat, and fell silent. Ritchie became aware of the hum of the fridge, the ticking of a clock somewhere, the purr of the cat. George's eyes were dark, lost in thought, seeing in his head memories Ritchie didn't share. After a few minutes of this silence, Ritchie shifted on the chair, unsure if maybe that was everything, story complete. At his movement George glanced back up, suddenly returning to the present. He smiled apologetically at Ritchie.  
"Sorry..It's just hard" his voice was little more than a whisper. Ritchie saw George give himself a mental shake. "More coffee?"  
Ritchie had a very empathetic nature, and he sensed George was buying some extra time. He nodded.  
"That would be great, ta!"  
For the next few minutes, while George made them more coffee, they chatted about everyday things...Ritchie's job, it's ups and downs and the funny things that happened in hospitals. George talked about his cooking and the restaurant and how he'd once mixed up garam masala with ginger and completely wrecked a menu.  
George slid a fresh cup across to Ritchie and sat himself down. Ritchie could sense him mentally droop.  
"George, if you don't want to tell......"  
"No, no" George waved his hand dismissively " I need to talk about it. I never have, to anyone, and certainly not to my mother."   
He heaved a sigh, smiled at Ritchie resignedly, and continued.  
"So..I didn't see Paul for nearly a year. By then, I was renting this little flat. I'd been to work, and I often get home late, it's the nature of the job....it was a Friday night a year ago last September. I came home about half eleven and found Paul curled up asleep in my doorway. He'd been beaten up. I dunno how he knew where I lived, or how he'd made it across the town. I took him in and cleaned him up.....it was over a week before he'd even speak to me about what had gone on. It took weeks to get the story out of him."   
George heaved a sigh.  
"Turns out this wealthy boyfriend of his was earning money illicitly. He was dealing in drugs and liquor.""Ritchie looked up in alarm. George saw the movement.  
"Oh, no, he didn't take them himself..just sold them. He was quite high up in the chain, too, so less likely to be caught. No..he got Paul to do his dirty work. Paul had the kind of looks he was after..no one would suspect him. He's always looked like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth...used to get away with murder when we were young. If Paul didn't want to do it, well, he had his ways of making him. His was the only home Paul had, the only link to food and security...his father had made it perfectly clear he wouldn't have him back. Paul had nothing of his own, no money, everything he possessed belonged to his boyfriend. Even the air he breathed. So Paul began to lose the confidence he'd had...that spark...and without that Luke found maybe he wasn't as interested in Paul. But Paul was still very attractive, and even if Luke wasn't interested, others were."  
Ritchie looked horror struck at George, and George grimaced.  
"Easy way to make money, Paul was there on the premises, Luke had friends, friends who were happy to pay. More money for Luke. By the time Paul turned up on my doorstep he'd been to hell and back. He'd lost any sense of dignity, of being worth anything. He still doesn't think he's worth anything. He still thinks that he deserves nothing but abuse. I've tried so hard to give him back a feeling of his own worth, but..unless someone's actually...using him....he doesn't consider his existence is of any value."  
George sighed, the weight of the world on his young shoulders.  
"You don't know how hard I've tried, Ritchie, to get back the guy I used to know."  
Ritchie patted George's shoulder sympathetically.  
"George..you are an amazing guy, d'you know? Paul's very lucky to have you as a friend. I'm really glad you told me all this. And...well, I'm gonna do my best to help you and Paul..if you'll let me"  
George looked across at Ritchie. Brown eyes met blue.  
There were no words that could be used, other than two simple ones.  
"Thank you"


	8. We can work it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritchie's predicament, Paul returns home

Ritchie had a predicament. It was a big predicament, and getting bigger every day. It was this: he had not said anything to John about Paul and the hospital visits. And the longer he left it, the more difficult a subject it was to raise.  
Of course, it was, truth be told, John's fault anyway that he'd never said anything, as the mere mention of Paul's name seemed to set off a chain reaction within John, but to be fair to John he would have no idea that Ritchie had avoided all mention due to that fact. One thing John was...it was honest. If something was going on in his head, you knew about it. Ask him a question, he'll tell you the answer. It might not be what you want to hear , but it will be frank.

And now, here was Ritchie, nearly two weeks of visiting Paul and getting to know George behind him, and John with no idea. Not that they lived in each other's pockets...No, they had their own lives, but they shared a lot. And if Ritchie knew one thing for definite, it was that John trusted him implicitly. So this deviousness only made Ritchie feel worse.

Sunday morning. A relaxing lie-in. A late breakfast. He was gonna see Paul tonight as George would be at work. Soon Paul would be discharged. The bruises had changed to an interesting shade of green and yellow. Fractures were healing. The concussion..well, it could be six weeks before all side effects ceased, so he was gonna need watching. It was worrying George, Ritchie knew. George didn't want to leave Paul alone more than he had to. Ritchie was planning on asking if he could just do day shifts for a couple of weeks so he could help. He really had to say something to John.

Speak of the angels..a hammering came on Ritchie's bedroom door.  
"Gerrup y'lazy sod, I've cooked breakfast" came John's holler. Ritchie grinned to himself, and swung his legs out of bed. A lazy Sunday morning breakfast in the company of John. What more could he ask for?

"So..." breakfast over, John leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. "What you been up to the last coupla weeks? Got a new girl or something?"  
Ritchie felt the colour rush to his face. Here was the obvious time to come clear, but the words stuck in his throat.  
John looked quizzically at him as he took a sip from his mug of tea.  
"Cat got your tongue?" John noticed Ritchie's heightened colour and leaned forward, grinning wickedly. "Ah..you have, haven't you. That's why you've been gone all hours of the day and night"  
Ritchie shook his head in denial.  
"No, no, I haven't, and it isn't. I've been..busy..with other things..." Ritchie's voice petered out. He didn't think he could do this. Now John's curiosity was piqued.  
"What things?"  
Ritchie shuffled uncomfortably.  
"Well..." It was now or never.." do you remember that lad at the restaurant..the waiter that fainted.."  
It was as if someone drew a veil over John's face. His smile fell.  
"Not again..look, Ritchie.."  
"No, please, John, listen. Please..I'm not getting at you, honest."  
John heaved a dramatic sigh, but stayed silent.  
"Well, a couple of weeks ago he was brought into hospital. Someone, or more than one, most likely, had beaten him up really badly."  
John registered this information expressionlessly. To John it was fairly obvious what Paul was, and getting beaten up would be a risk he knew he was taking.  
John shrugged. "So?"  
Ritchie looked closely at him, appalled.  
"Doesn't that bother you? That someone could do that? John, if it had been you...."  
"But it wouldn't happen to me, would it, though. Think! For one thing, I'd like to try and see anyone beat me up. And the other, most obvious thing, is that I don't let others pick me up. I do the picking up! If Paul, or whatever his name is, is gonna let other guys pick him up, well, that's the risk he takes." John shrugged himself back into his chair, rant over.  
Ritchie felt as if the wind had been taken out of his sails. Now he'd lost his thread. He shook his head, and tried to pick up his story.  
"Well...you asked me where I've been" he muttered " and that's your answer. I've been visiting Paul whenever George couldn't."  
John put his mug down on the table.  
"Who the fuck's George?"  
"George is Paul's flatmate. Well, George rents the flat, so....and he was the cook at the restaurant..d'you remember? The one with the long hair?"  
John thought back, and nodded, although it was an embarrassing evening he'd rather forget.  
"So, how come you got involved? What's it to you? Not got a guilt trip, have y'?"  
Ritchie shook his head.  
"No, no guilt trip. I got to know George and, over the last few days, Paul too."  
"Why?"  
The simple question John threw at him stumped Ritchie.  
"Why?"  
"Yeah, why?"  
Ritchie shrugged. "I wanted to help. George is a great guy who's trying really hard to look after Paul, and Paul is..is.."  
Ritchie faltered. Although George had not specifically said, Ritchie felt that Paul's story was not his to share.  
He looked helplessly at John.  
"He's had a rough time..I just..wanted to help."  
John snorted. "Well, it's a tough life on the streets.."  
"John, he's not..y'know..I know what you're thinking, but..he isn't..not really..he had a job.."  
John looked unconvinced.  
"Whatever" he shrugged. The conversation was most definitely over.

******************

Tuesday was Ritchie's day off. Nonetheless his feet were headed in the direction of the hospital. Paul was going to be discharged, and George was caught up at the restaurant as Rami was unable to be there to take a delivery of new utensils. George had rung Ritchie in a panic that morning.  
"He's expecting me...."he explained breathlessly.." I don't wanna let him down. I can leave the key under the mat..."  
"Isn't that risky?"  
George paused.."Risky? Why? I've got nothing worth pinching."  
In that case Ritchie wondered why bother to lock the flat at all, but didn't want to appear rude.  
"Of course I can get him" he reassured. He heard George's sigh of relief.   
"Thanks, Ritchie, I owe you one"  
Ritchie smiled as he slipped his mobile back in his pocket.

An hour later and he was entering the hospital.  
Trevor, his supervisor, looked up in surprise.  
"Keen, aren't ya? Is this early for tomorrow? Or are y'still hanging around from yesterday?"  
Ritchie smiled."Nah...I've come to collect someone that's being discharged."  
Trevor cocked his head on one side.  
"Wouldn't happen to be that lad from Ward Ten, would it?"  
"Yeah" Ritchie nodded."Why?"  
"Just that the police went up to see him a bit ago."  
"Police!" Ritchie panicked.  
"Yeah..just enquiring, like, that's all. Don't reckon they've got anyone..probably never will."  
Ritchie drew a breath. "Ah, right, yeah...yeah. Rotten business. Anyway, must go get him. See ya"

When Ritchie entered the ward, Paul was sitting, dressed, on the edge of the bed, his back to the door. He was glancing through one of the Mojo magazines Ritchie had brought for him. The grey jacket Paul wore was far too thin for the cold November weather. Ritchie had a memory of him wearing the same clothes the morning he'd seen Paul slipping out of his house. The frayed denims, the worn Converse.  
"Paul?"  
Paul looked round, surprised, his eyes widening at the sight of Ritchie.  
"Oh, hi, Ritch. I'm going home today."  
"Yeah, I know, mate, I'm here to get you."  
Paul's smile dropped slightly. "Oh! Where's George?  
"He got caught up at work. Rang me. Hope I'll do" Ritchie joked. He could see Paul make an effort.  
"Oh, right..yeah. yeah, thanks."  
"All packed up?"  
Paul looked at him quizzically. "Packed?"  
"Yeah..y'know, your things."  
Paul looked discomfited "I..I don't have anything to pack". Ritchie could have kicked himself. Then Paul suddenly brightened, and held up the Mojo magazines. "Can I keep these though?"  
"Sure, course you can. Let's get you home, shall we?"

When Paul stood up, Ritchie was surprised to find he was taller than he'd thought. His memory of Paul otherwise had been fleeting. The bruises had faded, and Paul's hair was starting to grow back where it had been shaved. Ritchie had originally planned to walk back to George's flat, but it suddenly occurred to him that Paul might not be up to that physically. He looked a bit wobbly on his feet. Ritchie felt in his pocket..yes, he had some money. Okay. A taxi was the answer. He took Paul's arm to guide him...and surreptitiously to steady him....and he felt Paul tense slightly, then relax. It took Paul a while to make it through the hospital to the outside, and Ritchie found Paul was leaning quite a lot of his weight on him by the time they got out. Fortunately the taxi rank was right outside the hospital, and he helped Paul into the backseat of a vehicle, sliding in beside him. Paul leaned back against the seat, face pale. Ritchie glanced at him worriedly.  
"You okay?"  
Truth be told, Paul felt exhausted, but he just nodded.  
"Yeah, m'fine"   
It wasn't far to the flat. Ritchie paid off the taxi driver, and groped under the door mat for the key.  
"Here we go. Home sweet home, eh?" Ritchie joked as they entered, the familiar smell of Indian spices assailing them.   
Ritchie pointed to the settee. "You sit. I'll make us a drink. What d'you want? Tea? Coffee?"  
Gandhi the cat took a flying leap onto Paul's lap as he sat down.  
"Oh, tea, please."  
"Okay. Tea it is. How y'feeling?"  
"Okay. M'okay."  
Ritchie passed Paul a mug of tea and they sat for a while. Ritchie did most of the talking but Paul had relaxed enough that he could respond. Occasionally, though, Ritchie saw Paul's eyes droop. Finally, like a slow motion film, Paul slid onto his side, eyes closed, breathing more deeply. Ritchie cast around the flat for something to keep Paul warm. His glance fell on the door George had pointed out as being Paul's room. He tiptoed quietly across. When he opened the door, he understood what George had said about it being more of a closet. The door wouldn't open completely as it was blocked by a small camp bed. There was just about enough space to stand up. The only other item in there was a stool with a folded up pile of clean clothes. There was no window as the room had not been intended for anything other than storage.   
Ritchie took the multicoloured knitted blanket off the bed, and proceeded to tuck it around Paul's sleeping figure. That done, Ritchie sat on the small space that remained, listening to Paul's breathing and the cat's purring. And not for the first time, he wondered how he'd managed to become involved in all this.


	9. Within you, without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In charge of Paul

Into this peaceful scene the door flung open, and George arrived in a rush.  
"Sorry..so sorry I'm late ....the order..."  
Ritchie raised his finger to his lips and indicated the sleeping figure. George drew breath, and he closed the front door quietly behind him.  
"I thought..jeez, I thought maybe you'd be pushed for time an' have to go...I was so worried. Was he okay? Not too phased that I didn't get him?"  
Ritchie shook his head.  
"He was fine. Just knackered, I think. He's come back with some painkillers and an appointment at the outpatients for next week."  
George grimaced. "Shit. He probably won't go."  
"Well, he should. It's important." Ritchie was serious on that...after all, even if only a porter, he worked in the health industry.  
"Yeah, well, I'll see what I can do. If I can encourage him. How d'you get back?"  
"Taxi..I figured he wasn't up to walking. He's probably gonna need a good coupla weeks convalescing."  
George hummed. "How much I owe you for the taxi?"  
"Nothing, you stupid bugger. It doesn't matter."  
George sat on the arm of the settee by Ritchie and eyed the sleeping figure.  
"He's gonna be okay, isn't he, Ritch?" George sounded worried. Ritchie hastened to reassure.  
"I'm sure he'll be fine. He's young, he'll heal. How old is he?"  
George considered. "Twenty one last June. I'll be twenty one in February."  
"Ah..I remember being twenty one"  
George gave a fanged grin. "How old are you, then? You're not that old."  
"Twenty three last July. Pushing it a bit now, y'know"  
George gave a chuckle. Ritchie looked closely at him. He thought the white shirt George wore had an interesting pattern on it. Now under closer surveillance Ritchie realised it was food stains. He jokingly pointed them out to George.  
"Been sharing your cooking again, eh, mate?"  
George grinned even more.  
"You wait till I do the Christmas meal...I'm a total riot of colour then."  
Christmas. Not far off. Another four weeks. Ritchie's mind drifted off, thinking.  
"So..." George brought him back to the present.." ..got time for a coffee?"  
Hmm..memories of cumin flavoured coffee..How did George manage to do that? Ritchie declined gracefully.  
"Er, no, ta, mate, but..tell you what? Are you working pretty much every night?"  
Ritchie saw concern flood George's face.  
"Yeah, 'fraid so. I can have tonight off, but that's all. S'not Rami's fault. We're only a little business, and its all hands to the plough, so to speak. He said if it's quiet I can go as early as possible, but...it's the nature of the job."  
"Right, well, good news. Trevor said I can do just days for the next couple of weeks, so soon as I finish at five I can head straight here. And I'll just stay with Paul till you get back. How's that?"  
The relief that flooded George's face was worth the juggling Ritchie had done with his workmates to get his evening shifts covered. Not for the first time, he found himself enveloped in a spice smelling bear hug.

**********************

Wednesday evening, as Ritchie hurried round to George's, he wondered to himself how he was going to keep Paul occupied. After all, they didn't possess a television, or any games consoles, and Paul didn't have a mobile phone, so all the time-absorbing activities Ritchie was used to suddenly ceased to be of importance. He realised, with a jolt, that he didn't really know Paul, and that Paul would have no idea George had told his abbreviated life story to Ritchie. Music. There was a common factor. Ritchie thought back longingly to his last school years when he'd used to bang on the drums a bit with a few fellow musicians from the different classes. A guitar. Could he get hold of a guitar for Paul? Of course, he'd have to tread carefully, providing Paul with anything...it couldn't look too obvious. Underneath a very broken exterior, Ritchie sensed a certain amount of pride. He noticed George always gave Paul a lot of emotional space, never pushed, sometimes suggested, but never tried to take control. Okay, way to go, Ritchie.  
All these musings brought him to the flat door. It was opened before he had chance to knock. Obviously George was watching out for him. George shook his head in warning at Ritchie, and slipped outside to catch his ear.  
"Everything okay?"  
"No..not really" George spoke quickly, quietly.."He asked me about when he might be needed at the supermarket and I had to tell him....." George trailed off, pulling a face at Ritchie. " Not good...sorry. I didn't want to leave him like this but I've gotta go. I promise I'll get back soon as I can."  
He opened the door into the little flat, and raised his voice to a cheery mode.  
"Paul? I've gotta go now, but Ritchie's popped over to keep you company. That's nice, isn't it?"   
Ritchie could hear the desperation in George's voice, and he followed him into the flat, picking up on the cheerleading vibe of George.  
"Hi, Paul, how y'doing?"  
There was no response. Paul was sitting on the settee, his knees drawn up to his chest, chewing at his thumbnail, his eyes dark and expressionless.  
George gave Ritchie a hesitant smile.  
"You be okay?"  
"Sure, I'll be fine. We'll be fine, won't we, Paul."  
George slipped quickly out of the door, and Ritchie paused, unsure of what to do.  
"Do you want a drink, Paul? Tea, or coffee?"  
Paul gave no indication he'd heard. The skin around his thumbnail was starting to bleed. Ritchie bent down and pulled the thumb out of Paul's mouth.  
"God, mate, you're gonna need a plaster on this"  
Paul's eyes remained fixed on the same spot and he tugged his thumb back out of Ritchie's grasp, putting it straight back to his mouth where he continued to gnaw.  
Ritchie sat down by him. This was gonna be a long evening. He tried a few random topics of conversation, but he may as well have talked to himself. He was glad of the cat taking up residence on his lap....at least it gave him something to do.  
Finally, in desperation, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and played a few games, scrolled through Facebook, sent a text to his mam.. When he'd bored of them, he started to flip around on YouTube. As he searched through different music videos he almost forgot Paul was next to him, until quite suddenly he noticed a smell rather like coconut, and realised that Paul had stopped chewing his thumb and was leaning over Ritchie's shoulder to see the videos. The smell of coconut must have wafted up from his hair.....shampoo? Ritchie thought.   
He hardly dared to say anything, just carried on pulling up different videos. Finally he clicked onto an old Everley Brothers song, and he sensed a shift in Paul next to him. By now Paul had moved so close to him that Ritchie could feel the warmth from his body and another smell mingled with the coconut that was essentially Paul.  
"I like the Everley Brothers, particularly their harmonies. Does that have Cathy's Clown on it?"  
Ritchie took a deep breath..okay, play cool.  
"Should do. I'll have a look, Paul."  
Two hours and many music videos later, and a phone battery that was almost out of charge, and they hardly noticed George return home.

**********************

By the time Ritchie got home, it was almost midnight, and he needed to be at work at eight. Nonetheless he was extremely satisfied as he put the key in the door. That was a big breakthrough tonight. In future, he needed to take his phone charger with him.   
He entered the kitchen to find that John was still up....and he had company.  
"Oh, hi, Ritchie. Wondered where you were."  
Ritchie could feel the other guy perusing him.  
"This is, erm, ..Dean. Dean, this is Ritchie."  
Dean stood up to shake Ritchie's hand. He was tall, suave, not like John's usual pick-up's. Ritchie wondered vaguely where he'd met him, and then, more worriedly, why he'd introduced him. Normally John dealt only with one night stands.  
Dean proferred a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. For no apparent reason, Ritchie took an instant dislike to the tall blonde. Instead, into Ritchie's head flashed a face with wide hazel eyes and black hair. He shrugged the image away.  
"Er, hi, Dean, good to meet you.". Liar, he chastised himself.  
"The same. Anyway, I must be going."  
"I'll see you out..." and John was on his feet.  
As Ritchie put the kettle on, he could hear murmuring at the front door. He turned to John as he re-entered the room.  
"New boyfriend?"  
"Hmm?" John appeared distracted."Oh, yeah, no, not really, just, erm..." he ran his fingers through his auburn hair. "Er, where you been? It's late for a work day?"  
Ritchie put a mug of tea down in front of John.  
"I've been looking after Paul while George has been at work." He ignored the scowl that crossed John's face and ploughed on regardless. He turned to John with wide blue eyes.  
"John, I need a guitar!"


	10. Rock n' roll music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gets a guitar, a meal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy McLennon day...hoping to post this today (6th,) but I'm going to be in Manchester till late, so this might be belated

"A guitar?" John looked disbelievingly at Ritchie. "What the fuck d'you want with a guitar?"  
"S'not for me" Ritchie qualified swiftly "it's for Paul. I want something to keep him occupied."  
John turned away, his face suddenly like thunder.   
"Oh, that little tramp again" he muttered under his breath, but loud enough to be heard.   
Ritchie rose swiftly to Paul's defence.  
"He's not a tramp..."  
"A slut, then.."John interjected quickly.  
"He's not a tramp and he's not a slut!" Ritchie was getting quite worked up.  
John looked closely at Ritchie.  
"Dunno what planet you're on, Ritch, but anyone who allows themselves to be picked up off the street is a slut"  
"So all your fucks are sluts, are they?"  
"Yes.."  
"Including that smarmy bugger you've just introduced me to?"  
John stopped, , aghast "Y'what?"  
"You heard me. Did you pick him up off the streets, eh? A slut, is that what he is?"  
"Dean is not a slut, and no, for your information, I did not pick him up off the streets. We met through a mutual friend."  
"Ooh, a mutual friend, nice.."  
By now they were glaring at each other, inches apart, spitting venom. They both drew breath at the same time, and exchanged appalled glances. They'd never argued before.  
"Shit, John,..I'm so.."  
"Ritchie, I'm..."  
They both spoke at the same time, apologetic.   
John drew a deep breath.  
"Okay...you want a guitar. What kind of guitar?"  
Relieved, Ritchie responded."A cheap one"  
John snorted. "Well, that's helpful."  
"No..I'm serious. It's not just that I can't afford much, I don't want Paul to feel as if I'm..well, y'know.." Ritchie trailed off.   
John looked at him closely. "No, I don't know. Enlighten me"  
Ritchie sighed. "Well, he doesn't have much, and I don't want him to think I'm feeling sorry for him.."  
"Even if you are" John butted in.  
Ritchie gave a wry grin. "Yeah, guess that's the sum of it."  
"So..an acoustic? A cheap second hand one? That kind of thing?"  
Ritchie nodded, relieved that John seemed to be complying.  
"You're sure the little shit plays, are yeh?"  
Ritchie chose to ignore the slur.  
"Pretty sure, yeah. George has mentioned it, apart from the fact Paul obviously loves music."  
"Probably loves sucking guy's dicks too" John muttered.  
"John!!"  
John threw his hands up. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'll ask around. I'm bound to be able to get you one for a few quid. How's that?"  
"Thanks, John, appreciate it."  
"Hmm" John muttered." Just hope that that Paul does, n'all".

*********************

"So, Ritchie, 'ere you go, mate. It looks really battered..Well, it is, but it's got a lovely tone. Listen"  
John sat down and proceeded to tease some attractive notes and chords from the instrument. He looked up hopefully at Ritchie. "That do for your little friend?"  
Ritchie ignored the barb and beamed at John.  
"That's brilliant, mate. How much do I owe you?"  
"Twenty quid. The guy I had it from had loads..he said this was one of the best, but people won't buy it 'cos it's so manky. Anyway...'ere y'go". He thrust the instrument in the direction of Ritchie. "No case, obviously. I carried it home in a bin bag. Just don't let it get wet."

*********************

Ritchie was so excited to get to George's that night. All day he'd kept the instrument in a locker at work, wrapped in a black bin liner.   
Over the last couple of nights he'd searched YouTube with Paul, and Paul had listened intently to some solo guitar work, his brow furrowed, as he tried to work out the chords that were being used. Ritchie had high hopes that the guitar would be a success.  
On the way to George's there were the usual teasing remarks.  
"Gi' us a tune, love"  
"What you got in there, a body?"  
"Ey, lad, are you famous yet"  
To all of them Ritchie gave his beaming smile.  
Finally he arrived at the flat, instrument still in one piece, his fingers tired of clutching around the neck of the guitar in an attempt to keep the black bin liner on it.  
He knocked, and entered, protecting the instrument as he squeezed through the doorway. George greeted him with his welcoming fanged smile, his coat on ready to go. Paul stood up from his place on the settee, a hopeful smile on his face when he saw Ritchie.  
"Hi, Ritchie, brought your phone?"  
Ritchie produced the black bin liner from behind his back.  
"Got something better than that, mate, I've got the real thing. 'Ere you go" so saying, he thrust the instrument at Paul.  
George looked at him quizzically. Ritchie just raised his eyebrows in response. Paul took the instrument, peeling the bin liner off the battered body. His eyes widened in amazement.  
"This? ...is this yours? You never..."  
Ritchie cut him short.  
"S'not mine...I don't play. It's for you."  
"For me?..but..." Paul brushed his thumb across the strings, and a warm mellow sound filled the tiny flat.  
"It okay?" Paul had gone so quiet, Ritchie was concerned.  
Paul gave a nod, his words coming out strangled.  
"It's amazing..thank you....I..I don't..."   
Ritchie was surprised then horrified to see tears coursing down Paul's cheeks.  
"Ey..ey up, mate, didn't mean to upset you. It's not that bad, is it?"  
Paul gave something between a hiccup and a sob, rubbing furiously at his eyes,  
"No..it's ..I don't know how to thank you.."  
To Ritchie's astonishment, he was suddenly enveloped in a hug from Paul. It didn't have the strength of George's, and it was far more tentative, but it was there. Ritchie found himself strangely moved. He patted Paul's back awkwardly.  
"Hey..s'okay..just learn to play something for me, eh?"

Ritchie picked up a text message from George on his phone during tea break the next day. Apparently Paul had spent most of the night and the next day playing, and when Ritchie arrived that evening Paul was waiting to show him what he could do. That evening the phone hardly went on other than to check some words. Ritchie sat back and enjoyed the show. He was amazed how the difference of being able to make music had affected Paul. He was seeing a side to the lad he hadn't known existed, and began to understand George's description of him from many years before.

"Paul wants to do something to say thank you, and we thought maybe a meal?" George accosted him when he arrived at the flat.  
"Oh..yeah..y'don't have to, though. I mean, it was a gift."  
"I know" George smiled " but I think it would help Paul feel he's done something properly. Could you cope with a Sunday dinner? I'm afraid I've gotta work Sunday night, but, well...s'not just Paul. I'd like to say thank you too. I honestly don't know how we'd have managed without you."   
George's statement made Ritchie feel warm inside. Yes sometimes it had been a hassle, some days he'd wanted nothing more than to go home at the end of a day's work, but it had been worth all the effort. Nearly two weeks down the road and Paul was so much better.  
The only twinge of regret that Ritchie had was his relationship with John. Ritchie was out such a lot at the moment and they seemed to have lost the closeness they'd once shared. On the odd occasion Ritchie was home John's new 'friend' Dean was there too. Now that Paul was improving, Ritchie felt he needed to renew his friendship with John. Also, scheming away at the back of his mind, was the hope that John and Paul may yet meet in a more opportune way.

********************

Ritchie arrived to the little kitchen full of steam and reeking of spices. George was busy stirring a cauldron of vegetables, and Paul was putting the finishing touches to the tiny table, the stool having been fetched from his bedroom to provide a third seat.  
George talked and stirred. Ritchie noted with amusement a couple of grains of rice lodging in his hair.  
Although Paul didn't particularly join in with the conversation other than a couple of words here and there, he looked happy and relaxed. Dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans he'd filled out and the extra bit of weight suited him. Ritchie opened the beers he'd brought, and passed a bottle each to Paul and George. They stood chatting in the kitchen, almost shoulder to shoulder with the lack of room.   
George was busy describing something and in his usual effusive fashion waved his free hand to demonstrate a point. He was completely unaware that his hand knocked flying a bag of rice which was standing on the side. Paul expertly caught the rice as it sailed through the air, and then he caught Ritchie's eye. Oblivious to the occurrence, George carried on talking, but Paul was slowly dissolving in a fit of giggles. As Ritchie watched in amusement Paul changed from pink to red, his dark eyes sparkling in mirth as he tried to stifle his laughter. Finally Ritchie burst out laughing too, and George paused, wondering why the other two were cracking up around him.  
In that moment, Ritchie felt completely a part of their little world, and he wished with all his heart he could get John to understand and share it.


	11. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas predicaments.

Christmas was fast approaching, and with it Ritchie could foresee problems. The most immediate problem in his mind was John. Ritchie always went to his mam and stepdad's for the traditional Christmas meal. They would be expecting him, that he knew, and as the only child, his presence would be missed if he wasn't there. Not that he had any intention of not being there. No, he fully intended to be there, but at this moment in time he didn't know what John's plans were.   
Christmas was a funny time, Ritchie mused. People tried so hard to get together, but often they weren't together with the people they wanted to be together with. Well, that was a muddled thought. But then again, he often came up with muddled thoughts that made sense to him. Now, John..what would John be planning for Christmas, if anything? Would he be with this posh new boyfriend of his, Dean, that Ritchie had taken an instant dislike to?. If he wasn't, then what would he do for Christmas day? John's dad was non-existent..waved bye-bye when the lad was about three. His mam not much better. She'd handed John over to her sister to raise when the idea of being a single mother became boring. Then she'd also waved bye-bye and gone off to discover herself. The last John had ever heard of her had been a birthday card posted from Australia wishing him happy eighteenth birthday (he'd been nineteen at the time) ...that was four years ago and never a word since. The aunt who had raised him was horrified at his homosexual adventures, and had shown him the door.  
No wonder, thought Ritchie, John presented such a brash exterior to the world. His life had been full of rejections. Well, Ritchie vowed to himself, I won't see him on his own at Christmas. His mam's heart was a big one, and he knew she'd offer John a seat at the table if there was the slightest mention of him having nowhere to go.

Ritchie sighed, and poured himself a mug of tea before heading out to do his shift. Well, he had to find a way of approaching the subject with John without offending John's pride..hmm..not an easy one. Also, John was very astute and would soon see through any bullshit. Rather than dance around the subject, Ritchie mused, it would really be better if he did a Lennon and simply barged in. Right..barge in..that's what I'll do, Ritchie decided. Next time I see him.

A short distance away, George was facing a similar predicament. George was the youngest of four children, a big, loving family. His mam was an amazing cook, and Christmas dinner at the Harrison household was an important occasion. He would be expected. So..what to do with Paul? There was no way Paul would go with him, despite the fact that he would be more than welcome. George's mam was always enquiring about Paul's welfare. Awkward for George, as he had never been able to explain to his mam everything that had occurred in Paul's life.   
George thought back to the previous Christmas. There was no way he would get Paul to his house again after what had happened. Paul had still been very vulnerable when they'd turned up at the Harrison's for christmas dinner last year.George's mam had enveloped Paul in an enormous hug, and George had seen Paul cringe. Then, to make it worse, over dinner his mam had proceeded to cross examine Paul about what he'd been up to for the past couple of years. Across the table from him, George could see Paul becoming more and more uncomfortable. Finally, Paul fled to the bathroom and locked himself in, leaving his meal untouched. It took a lot of persuading on George's part to get Paul to unlock the door, at which point George apologised profusely to his bewildered family, made an excuse up for Paul, and bundled him out of the door and back to their flat. George did not want a repeat of that this year.  
George pondered his predicament as he stirred the rice for their evening meal. He glanced across at Paul, who was, as usual, sitting crosslegged on the settee, guitar in his hands. George silently thanked Ritchie for that gift..it had certainly kept Paul occupied. Had stopped him thinking, dwelling on things, worrying...though George was well aware Paul still worried about not having a job and bringing no money in, despite George's reassurance that they were fine financially. George preferred to keep Paul close by him.   
Ritchie? George wondered if maybe Ritchie could have Paul for Christmas?...long shot, but worth asking.

**************

Right..straight out with it then...No beating about the Bush.  
"So, John, what y'doing for Christmas? Anything planned?"  
John looked up in surprise from his perusal of the evening paper.  
"Eh? Why?"  
"Just wondered, y'know" Ritchie shrugged. "If you've got nothing planned d'you fancy coming with me to me mam's"  
A smile spread across John's face, his amber eyes crinkling.  
"Well...what can I say to that, eh? My dear chap" he put on his best British upper class accent" I would be delighted."  
You could have knocked Ritchie over with a feather. As easy as that.  
Ritchie beamed at him. "Brill. I'll tell me mam get a big turkey then. That's fantastic."

When Ritchie left work that night, to his astonishment George was waiting for him.  
"Hey, mate, everything okay?" Ritchie queried, his first thought being something wrong with Paul.  
"No, no, everything's fine" George hastened to reassure him "it's just...I didn't want to ask you in front of Paul, but...is there any chance you can have him for Christmas day? I..I can't take him to my mam's..not that she'd not have him, it's..it's just too awkward.."George blurted out. George saw Ritchie's face alter.  
"Oh God, George, I'm at me mam's and I'm already taking John. I mean, I'm sure me mam would be good with it, but I'm not too sure about putting Paul and John together, not with...well...y'know..." Ritchie trailed off, too embarrassed to explain to George John's opinion of Paul. Ritchie saw George sag.  
"Problem?" he asked sympathetically.  
George nodded. "I can't take Paul to me mam's...she asks too many questions. Last year Paul locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out."  
They caught each other's eye and chuckled.  
"S'funny now, but it wasn't at the time." George added.  
Ritchie sighed.  
"I'd move heaven and earth to help, but I don't know what I can do this time. I can't just not go to me mam's. She's expecting me..plus I'm an only one, so...  
I guess I could make an excuse and say I'm meeting friends and leave early...d'you think Paul would be okay on his own for a bit?"  
George shrugged. "Not ideal, is it, being on your own on Christmas day. I don't see what else I can do though. Anyway, it's not really your problem, Ritchie, you've done more than enough as it is. Well, y'know, maybe we could meet up in the evening..make something of it. If you don't mind?"  
Ritchie felt his Christmas day becoming more and more complicated.  
"Yeah, sure.." he tried to inject some enthusiasm into his response."Of course..I do have John too. I'd need to make sure he's okay, too"  
George nodded. "Yeah, sure, I understand. And Ritchie?..thanks."

****************

Christmas morning for John and Ritchie was hilarious when they discovered they'd bought one another knitted scarves. They had a celebratory whisky and headed over to the Dingle for dinner. Much to Ritchie's relief, John was meeting up with Dean that evening, so his excuse to leave early because of Paul was not the issue he thought it would be. Also...to his relief..John was in a full-blown charming mood, and Christmas dinner went well, with lots of laughter. They hugged one another goodbye, and Ritchie hastened his footsteps towards George's, a little later than intended, but in a glowing mood.

Christmas morning for Paul and George was quieter in comparison. George had deliberately not spent on a present for Paul, knowing it would only make him feel awkward as he had no money of his own, but he had made Paul a small celebration dinner to have , and he left with the promise he would be back as soon as he could.  
"Its okay, George, I'll be fine" Paul assured him.  
"Promise you won't go out...you'll eat the meal I've done.."  
"I promise" Paul gave him a reassuring smile. "Go on, go I'll be fine, honest."

George also had a wonderful time with his welcoming family, and, just like Ritchie, he left slightly later than he'd intended to as well.

******************

Ritchie arrived at the flat first, as he had assumed he would. Because George's was a bigger family, the meal had been planned slightly later. Ritchie knocked at the door, and frowned to himself when there was no reply. He turned the handle, and it opened anyway. He peered round cautiously, and saw that Paul was asleep on the settee. The cat was curled up near him on the floor, and it blinked at Ritchie through big green eyes.  
"Hey, moggy, how y'doing?" Ritchie bent down to fuss the cat, and glanced at Paul. He seemed to be in a deep sleep.   
Ritchie hummed to himself. Everything seemed fine. There was a plate and cutlery in the sink, so Paul had obviously eaten. No panic, then. So Ritchie needn't have dashed like he had.  
About ten minutes later, George arrived back.  
"Hey, merry Christmas Ritch..good time?"  
"Fantastic. Seems like we panicked for nothing. Paul's fast asleep."  
"Asleep?" George quirked an eyebrow.  
He moved past Ritchie to survey the sleeping figure.  
"Must have been a good meal I left him."George smiled. "Here" he waved a bottle of wine at Ritchie " mam gave me this. I bought a bottle of whisky for us to share too...it's in the kitchen. I'll go get it. Thanks for coming round, mate."  
George moved into the little gallery kitchen. Next second Ritchie heard an exclamation. "Fuck" and George came barelling out of the kitchen straight to Paul.  
He shook the comatose figure roughly.  
"Paul! Paul. for fuck sake, come on, wake up...Paul..oh, Jesus.." George looked up in a panic at Ritchie.  
Ritchie was slow to catch on. Then he saw the desperation in George's eyes.


	12. In the bleak midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the angst continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting lots of comments on this fic and it's great to know so many are enjoying it, even if I'm putting you through it!

In years to come, when Ritchie looked back on that day and time, it was like being in a dream where he needed to run but nothing worked, not arms, not legs, certainly not brains. He felt he was glued to the spot, and yet his mind was whirling, unable to stop.  
George had lifted Paul under his arms, trying to drag him off the settee, at the same time pleading with Ritchie to help him.  
Ritchie could only watch. He didn't work. He couldn't respond. He was stupefied. Like someone had thrown an off-switch.  
He knew George was talking to him. He could see his mouth opening and closing, but all Ritchie could hear was a rushing in his ears.  
Suddenly it all came at him, a wave of sound.  
"Ritchie, for godsake, help me lift him....Ritchie?!..Ritchie, please..." George was almost in tears as he struggled to move Paul, dragging him by the upper half of his body.."Ritchie? RITCHIE!!"  
Finally Ritchie clicked..He could move. He felt totally uncoordinated, and couldn't trust himself to speak, but he took hold of Paul's legs.  
"Bathroom..."George grunted with the effort.."help me get him to the bathroom, please, quick..oh, shit, stupid bugger..stupid, stupid bugger..."  
Together they dragged Paul to the bathroom, George positioned Paul's head over the toilet bowl, and without preamble stuck his fingers down Paul's throat. Ritchie watched in stunned silence, still unable to properly react.  
While gripping Paul, George looked up at him. Tears were streaming down his face..that was the one thing that brought it home to Ritchie that this was serious.  
"Ring for an ambulance, quick!"  
Ritchie didn't move. Suddenly George yelled at him.  
"RITCHIE..A FUCKING AMBULANCE..999...QUICK!"  
Startled by George's voice, Ritchie ran to the flat door where the mobile signal was better, and with shaking fingers selected 999. Behind him, he could hear the sound of someone being sick.  
"Hello, emergency, which service do you require?"  
Ritchie opened his mouth but nothing came out other than a strangled croak. The voice started to patiently repeat..  
"Hello, emergency, which service..."  
"Ambulance.."Ritchie cut in quickly " Ambulance please"  
"What post code?"  
Behind him he could hear retching as he gave the operator the information.  
"Someone will be with you shortly...keep this line clear in case we need to ring you back."  
Ritchie slipped the phone back into his pocket and went to George. He was supporting Paul, who still looked unconscious to Ritchie, under his shoulders while keeping his head over the toilet bowl. The smell of vomit was nauseating.  
"They're on their way" Ritchie said. Shit, he'd never felt so useless in his life. George was half supporting, half hugging Paul, as if he could ground them by sheer strength alone. George was too cut up to reply. He just nodded, and sniffed.  
The sound of sirens, such a normal part of Ritchie's work, cut through. Thank God they weren't far from the hospital.  
Someone was there. Ritchie looked at him in bewilderment. Had he just asked a question?  
"Do you know what he's taken?"  
George was replying. "A bottle of whisky and about three packets of paracetamol..." despite his anguish, George was very clear with his information.  
The two paramedics moved swiftly in the tiny flat, lifting Paul's body out of George's clutches and into the ambulance.  
"You two coming?" one of them asked. They both responded quickly, tagging on behind Paul. Ritchie heard one say to the other "You'd better step on it, Sam"  
For the first time Ritchie felt a strangled sob burst from his chest. George looked at him in concern, and squeezed his arm comfortingly.

As often happens in times of great stress, the hours and minutes ceased to have meaning. Sometimes they went swiftly, sometimes slowly. Of the ambulance journey Ritchie remembered very little, mainly because of the paramedic's words.. "You'd better step on it, Sam.....You'd better step on it, Sam.." round and round his head like a mantra.  
Then they were sitting in A and E while Paul had his stomach pumped. Questions were being asked. How was it George, who had been so traumatised, now was able to answer logically while he, Ritchie, who worked here, for christsake, was unable to clear his head of tangled thoughts.  
"Name? What name? Next of kin? Address? Who with? With you?"  
George answered them calmly, though Ritchie could see his hands were shaking.

A doctor, white coat, he looked tired. He recognised Ritchie, but still Ritchie couldn't respond. George had stood up.  
"Will he be okay?"  
Okay. Be okay. It's Christmas day. Christmas day. Fuck.  
George looked down at Ritchie where he sat. He said something to him, but that buzzing in Ritchie's ears had started again. Be okay. Please be okay. It's Christmas day.  
"Ritchie?" George had sat right by him, and took his hands.  
"Ritchie? Are you okay?"  
No, no, I'm not okay...please say it's okay, it's Christmas day.  
George squeezed his hands.  
"They think Paul will be okay..that's good, isn't it?"  
The doctor cleared his throat, said something about shock, and called a passing orderly to get a strong sweet cup of tea for Ritchie. Then Trevor was there, Ritchie's supervisor, face full of concern.  
"Is this the lad that our Ritchie was visiting, that had been beaten up? Thought so..what's gone on?"  
Then George was holding him, hugging him. It was too much. It was Christmas day.

Tea. Strong, sweet. It helped. Ritchie raised worried eyes to George.  
"What the fuck is going on?"  
George patted his arm.  
"Drink up, then we'll go see Paul."  
"Is he okay?"  
"He's okay."  
"But, what, why?"  
George just grimaced. Something inside Ritchie clicked.  
"It's not the first time?..."  
George shook his head. "No, it's not. I thought..I thought we were getting past all this, but.."

Ritchie wondered how often he'd done this now. Sat at Paul's bedside. Watched him. Watched George. Was this going to be his life?  
"I can't cope with this, George" Ritchie whispered.  
George looked at him in concern.  
"The uncertainty..." Ritchie added. "How do you do it?"  
George's eyes turned back to Paul. He was unconsciously playing with the long slim fingers of Paul's right hand.  
George shrugged. "I have to" he said "There's no one else to. I can't just give up on him."  
Ritchie heaved a sigh.  
"Why'd he do it?"  
George gave another shrug. "Dunno. But there'll be a reason. Sometimes he just can't live with the memories."  
"Memories?"  
"Yeah, memories. Of his time with Luke."  
"Oh, I see."  
George gave a patient smile.  
"No, you don't see, Ritchie. You only know what I've told you, and that was watered down."  
"Watered down?"  
"Yeah..let's leave it, eh? It doesn't bear thinking about."  
Paul gave a sigh, and turned onto his side, taking the cover with him.  
"At least he's okay" George said quietly.  
"But if he does it again?" Ritchie said. "You say he's done it before?.."  
"I'm gonna try to make sure he doesn't."  
"How?"  
"Well, for a start off, all the sharp knives are hidden. I change the hiding place regularly. That was Paul's first attempt..." George took Paul's right hand that was lying outside the cover, and pointed to a couple of faded scars.  
"Second time was an overdose of sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed for him....luckily I got home as he'd just taken them and I managed to get him to throw up before anything got into his system."  
George let go of Paul's hand, and Paul curled his fingers up, tucking them under his chin, much as a child would sleep. He looked so content it was almost impossible to believe the trauma he'd just been through.  
"This is the third time." George looked haltingly at Ritchie, as if not sure whether or no he should impart more information.  
"Y'see...I don't usually keep liquor in. Paul doesn't like it."  
"Doesn't like?...but he's just downed a full bottle.."  
"He doesn't like it. It brings back memories..things he'd rather forget. His boyfriend, the one I told you about, Luke, used to make Paul drink it when he wanted him to be..shall we say, acquiescent..and Paul relates the taste to things happening that he didn't want to have happen."  
George looked intently at Ritchie. He wanted him to understand. Ritchie pulled a face.  
"Oh, I see.."  
"Luke had a lot of money. He used to have lavish parties. Paul was often part of the entertainment..are you getting me?"  
Ritchie closed his eyes. Yes, he was getting him. George didn't have to spell it out any clearer.  
He shook his head.  
"Jesus, no wonder he's so fucked up.."  
George nodded. "Yeah..but I'm not gonna give up on him..I'm never gonna give up on him."


	13. In my life Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their thoughts, and Paul's trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy reading all the comments...even if some want to murder me...I'm certainly enjoying writing this. There will be a lot more angst yet, but it will eventually have a rainbow at the end.

Around the ward...ward ten, again, thought Ritchie...tinsel and streamers were strung, reminding visitors and patients that it was Christmas...Christmas day, he thought. What a way to spend it. Because of the occasion visiting hours had been relaxed, and every bed had someone by it. There was a feeling of false jollity ....it's Christmas, let's celebrate...but who wants to spend Christmas in hospital. Now all the furore was over, and Ritchie had got over the shock, he was angry. He didn't know who at. It certainly wasn't at George, who was doing his level best to keep Paul going. It wasn't at Paul, even if his own actions had put him here. He reckoned he was mad at someone he'd never met...Luke. Was it right to be mad at someone you'd never met? This guy sounded like the kind of person Ritchie would hate. So why, when he tried to put a face on him, did he find himself imagining Dean? Was it because he didn't like Dean? And why didn't he like Dean?   
He tried to rationalise his thoughts. John had said no more permanent relationships, yet somehow Dean had wormed his way in. What was it about him? Ritchie just saw him as being smarmy. It was the way he looked at Ritchie. They definitely had a shared dislike of each other. Ritchie was certain that in the long run he would not be good for John.

George was lost in his thoughts. His eyes were dark, thoughts turned inwards. He'd almost forgotten Ritchie was next to him. In his head he was replaying the evening's events. He chided himself for being so stupid as to leave Paul alone on Christmas day. If any day was going to throw up problems, it was that one. Also he was worried. He'd told Ritchie he would make sure Paul didn't have such an opportunity again, yet how was he going to do that? Realistically? He couldn't keep Paul with him twenty-four seven. It just wasn't possible. And he didn't know if he could stand the pressure of going through this again...and, if, heaven forbid, Paul did...  
No, no, don't think that way..just..don't..

Through waves of sluggish dreams, Paul surfaced. He stirred slightly, surveying the scene from under his lashes, so that it looked as though he was still asleep. He wanted to determine where he was, who was with him. At the edge of his vision he could see George and Ritchie both lost in their own thoughts. He dropped his lids swiftly. He didn't want them to know he was awake. He couldn't face the recriminations. Not that George would, but....  
He rolled further onto his side. His mouth tasted like dry sandpaper, and his stomach hurt. He knew full well what he'd done...so it hadn't worked and he didn't know whether or not to rejoice. Spared for another day. A wave of emotion rolled over him, and he stifled a sob, burying his face further into his pillow.  
He couldn't live like this. The memories of the day he had made his way to George's wouldn't go away. No matter how much he tried to bury them. It was like putting a plaster over a wound that wouldn't heal. No matter how hard he tried, they would resurface, dragging him back down.   
The pain in his chest from memories he couldn't forget burned so badly he just wanted to scream. He shifted deeper under the covers, drawing himself up into a foetal position. He heard someone...George?.....say his name. Go away , please, go away, leave me alone, I don't deserve you. If Paul could have made himself disappear, he would have.  
Here they came, rolling through his mind. Those memories. He screwed his eyes tight shut, but he saw them with his mind's eye. He heard the voice..that voice..Luke..taunting.

It was a Friday in late September. Paul hadn't left the penthouse flat for nearly seven months. He was a virtual prisoner of his boyfriend. Luke had pulled him out of doing anymore jobs when it came to his attention that Paul's face was getting known, and suspicions were being aroused.  
So Paul's world shrank to a few square metres, the outside world denied to him other than a breeze wafting through when windows were open.   
He tried to talk to the cleaners who came to do the flat, but they didn't respond, just looked at him as if he was dirt. Inside, a piece of his soul died. The once outgoing young man began to withdraw into himself.  
The only person who spoke to him was Luke, but gone were the tender words. They were now mainly critical or abusive.   
So Paul retreated to his bedroom and spent his day gazing out of the window at the life that was denied him.  
Where could he go anyway? Nobody knew where he was. He occasionally thought of George. They'd been good friends. Playing their music together. He felt a yearning inside him to return to that time.  
The late September sunshine was mellow upon the remaining leaves on the trees. He could hear conversation going on in the lounge..it appeared Luke had caterers in. Paul folded his arms across his chest and curled up into himself. He hated Luke's parties. Maybe he could pretend to be ill? Sick? His mind ran amok with ideas, but none of them seemed very viable. Luke would just see through him. Paul rolled onto his side, and stared blankly at the lemon painted wall. Not for the first time he contemplated taking his life, but it seemed Luke was always a step ahead. Opportunities like that did not come his way. He couldn't even throw himself out of a window as they all had safety locks and keys.  
Paul felt the room get darker as he lay there. He had already mentally numbed himself to the evening ahead.  
He heard the door to his small room open, and he quickly shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep. The bed dipped as the weight of someone sat on it, then a hand was on his shoulder. "Paul? Come on, don't mess with me..I know you're not asleep..who the fuck d'you think you're kidding."  
Paul ignored him, and next moment he was dragged up by his shoulders, his head snapping back. He could smell the alcohol on Luke's breath, and cringed back. Luke saw the movement, and his lips curled in an empty smile.  
"Oh...don't want to play, eh?"   
Next moment he backhanded Paul across his face, leaving a red mark across his cheek. Luke's eyes were bloodshot, his breath stank, he'd obviously been drinking steadily for a time. Paul tried to wriggle out of Luke's grasp, using his legs to push himself backwards, but Luke caught hold of Paul's shirt and in one tug ripped it from his body, slinging it away into a corner of the darkened room.  
All the time Luke was cursing, swearing at Paul.  
"Nothing but a whore..a fucking whore, a slut, just a slut...led me on..." with each statement Luke delivered stinging blows to Paul's head until he was reeling. He threw his hands up to protect himself which suddenly gave better leverage to his body. Luke dragged him up, fumbling at the zip on his jeans. Paul struggled, aware of blood pouring from his nose. With one hand he was trying to bat Luke away, with the other hold up his trousers.  
With a short, final curse of "tramp" Luke dragged Paul from his room into the lounge where, in front of his assembled guests, he threw Paul onto the floor, a well-aimed kick catching him on the ribs.  
Into the stunned silence he waved a dismissive hand at Paul.  
"Help yourself" he spat, as he headed over to the drinks table."Enjoy!"  
Paul curled himself up to a sitting position, trying to hold onto his jeans. He sank his head into his hands, humiliated beyond belief. All he was aware of was the silence around him, and he could feel all eyes on him.  
Then someone took him by his arm, pulling him up, and propelled him into his room. He steeled himself for what was to come. He didn't feel he could sink any lower.  
Then someone was talking to him. Some older guy.  
"Paul? Its Paul, isn't it?"  
He couldn't answer. He wiped the blood from his nose on the back of his hand.  
"Paul, listen to me, carefully. Do you have someone you can go to?"  
Someone? His whole life had belonged to Luke for more than two years now.  
The guy was talking to him urgently.  
"Listen to me, Paul. Can you get some clothes on? Have you got clothes in here? Is this your room?"  
Paul nodded.  
"Right...now listen to me. I want you to get some clothes on and I'm going to get you out of here okay?   
While Luke's busy entertaining, I'm going to get you out. Have you got someone you can go to?"  
George. George's face swam in front of Paul's eyes. He nodded again.  
"Okay. Now get dressed, put on an outdoor coat, and wait here for me. Understood?"  
Paul could only nod. He had no other faculty left.

True to his word, the guy was back within a few minutes. Unbeknownst to Luke, he took Paul out, down the lift, and through the doors to the outside world. For a moment Paul stood there, bewildered, unsure of what to do. For so long now every move he made had been dictated by Luke.  
The guy looked at him in concern.  
"Are you gonna be okay?" Here" he rummaged in his pocket, and pulled out a ten pounds note.."take this..now go..go on, just...go"

Paul had no idea how he made it across the city to George's flat. He'd never been there before, but somewhere deep in his memory he'd lodged the address George had given him. Along the way he received a few curious glances, and one person asked him if he was okay. He just looked blankly at them and carried on, finally reaching his destination. The fact George was not in didn't deter him. If this was George's flat, then George would be back, he reasoned. Worn out and exhausted, he curled up in the doorway, and slept.


	14. When the rain comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new life, a new beginning

George had taken Paul in, cleaned the cuts and bruises, fed him and put him to sleep in his own bed. He asked no questions...it wasn't George's way. It was over a week before Paul spoke at all, and slowly, over the next few months, the travesty that had been his life was revealed. But Paul never spoke of that last night. It was too raw. The memory of it was like a festering wound that wouldn't heal. He would never, ever forget the humiliation he had felt. It was always there, at the back of his mind, the fact that he had been of so little regard that he could be thrown out for others to play with. Paul struggled to mentally cope with the vivid memory and the sense of being of so little worth. The months of abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his boyfriend and others had stripped him of any self respect. Sometimes, faced with a vivid replay in his mind of that night, the only way out of the situation Paul could see was to take his own life.

Now, lying in the hospital bed, George yet again at his side, Paul was well aware that he had put extra stress on the one person that cared for him. He shifted under the blankets, sensing he was being watched.  
"Paul?" George's voice, a soft query.   
Paul drew a deep breath, and opened his eyes. George was watching him intently. They locked eyes. Paul could see the worry and concern etched on his friend's face.  
"I'm sorry..." Paul's voice was faint, but his eyes bore the weight of the apology. George picked up the hand that was lying nearest to him, and gave the fingers a squeeze.  
"I know..I know you are. Just rest. They say you can leave this afternoon once they've done another blood test." George paused, his eyes never leaving Paul's face. "Shit, mate, I thought I'd lost you."  
Paul was horrified to see a couple of tears run down George's face. Now it was his turn to squeeze George's hand.  
"Don't..please don't..I'm not worth it..."  
George retaliated swiftly.."You fucking well are, McCartney, why the hell d'you think I'm sitting here?. I sat here last night till they threw me out...so did Ritchie, by the way,..just willing you to keep going. I am not giving up on you, Paul, just get that into your thick head."  
"Hello, hello, is he awake?" Ritchie's voice cut in, sounding merry, and there he was in his green porters' uniform.  
"Just popped up to see.."  
George swiped a finger under his eyes, and gave Ritchie a false smile that didn't reach his eyes.  
"Hi, Ritch...yeah, awake he is, and if his blood test is okay he can leave this afternoon."  
Ritchie perched on the edge of the bed and looked closely at Paul, who met his gaze unflinchingly.  
"Gave us a bit of a scare there, mate" Ritchie said softly "Don't do that again, please"  
"He won't.." George put in quickly.  
Ritchie looked across at George.  
"What time?"  
George shrugged. "I dunno..it doesn't really matter. Rami said I can have tonight off so I'm free..I'll just come back at two and stay till they discharge him."  
George unconsciously played with the fingers of Paul's right hand. Ritchie shifted his position on the bed.  
"Well, I'm off duty at four so I can pop up and we can maybe stick together. Yeah?"  
George nodded. "That would be good, ta"  
They both looked at Paul who was watching them warily. He expected recriminations, but none were forthcoming. Ritchie patted his arm.  
"Okay. Gotta get back. See you later"

*********

"You've been where doing what?" John was disbelieving. "Mate, I've been fucking worried about you. You never came back Christmas day, now you turn up and tell me you've been spending your time at the hospital with that guy again."  
"Its..hard to explain.."  
"What, that he's a headcase who's tried to top himself.."  
"Its difficult, John."  
"I know what's difficult, son. Difficult is watching you be taken for a ride...."  
"I'm not..."  
"..cause that's what's happening."  
"You don't know..." Ritchie drew a breath and tried again.."you don't know him...them..."  
"Oh yes his sidekick..."  
"George is not a sidekick..."  
"Are they?"  
Ritchie frowned at the question.  
"Are they what?"  
"Are they....." John linked two fingers together.  
Ritchie shook his head.  
"No they're not. They're just friends..from a long time ago."  
John sighed, and rubbed his head. His auburn hair stood up in all directions. He seemed to be thinking. Then he seemed to reach a decision. He gave another sigh, and gave a wry smile.  
"Okay...right. You never struck me as being someone who's easily taken in, so...let's give you..and them..the benefit of the doubt, then. So..why?" He raised a puzzled eyebrow at Ritchie.  
"Why?"  
"Yeah..why. What is it about Paul and George that's got you so involved? Must be a reason."  
It was Ritchie's turn to scratch his head.  
"I..I dunno..since you ask. Just got to know them, and..."he shrugged helplessly.."Its complicated.."  
"Complicated?"  
"Hmm"  
"You said that once before to me. Why is it complicated?"  
"Its complicated in that I've been told some things in confidence, and I don't feel it's my place to share it."  
"Fair enough" John said. That was something he could understand and respect. John twirled his mug around in his fingers, thinking, then he seemed to reach a decision. He sat up straight, and put his mug down on the table.  
"Okay..so..when am I going to meet these new friends of yours, then. I mean " he gave a wry grimace.." meet them properly as opposed to picking one of them up."  
Ritchie's eyes widened. He'd not expected that. Would...would Paul even come? Would George? Should they meet on neutral ground? In fact, would Paul be willing to meet anyone? And how long would it take him to recover from this latest drama?  
"Oh..." Ritchie struggled to reply."..well..that's...Yeah, I'd be happy to do that, but...I don't think Paul'd be up for anything just yet, but...y'know...I'll mention it."  
John watched in amusement as Ritchie tried to make a coherent sentence.  
"Okay, Ritchie, I get it! A plan for the future, eh?"  
Ritchie smiled in relief.

"A job?"  
"Yeah..y'know, something really low key that doesn't require having to talk to others."  
Trevor looked disbelievingly at Ritchie.  
"So..this lad, Paul..the one that keeps ending up here...you want me to find him a job? Am I reading you right?"  
Ritchie blushed. "Well..he needs something..and he needs to feel..needed..but he doesn't cope with talking to others very much, y'see"  
Trevor surveyed Ritchie intently.  
"Why, is he shy?"  
Shy? No, Ritchie wouldn't put Paul down as shy. More a lacking in confidence. He tried to explain this to Trevor.  
"So..let me get this straight, Ritchie. This lad who's been beaten up and then tried to top himself..you want me to offer him a job in a hospital where there are sharp knives, drugs, pills, chemicals..."  
Ritchie winced.  
"Trevor, I know..I know it looks like that, but he's had a really tough time. If he could just get something that would offer him some independence..to stand on his own two feet."  
Ritchie saw Trevor waver.  
"Come on, Trevor, we're always needing orderlys to mop floors and empty slops..we're always short staffed. He lives near..can walk here..."  
"..and you'll vouch for him?"  
Inside, Ritchie gave a squeal of joy.  
"Yeah I'll vouch for him."  
Trevor heaved a sigh."Bloody hell Ritchie, I hope you know what I'm doing. Okay. You bring him to me...you, mind you, no one else, and not on his own 'cos if he ain't gonna talk to people he certainly ain't gonna talk to me. You can do all the talking for him. And I'll give you Monday off shift..paid for, mind, 'cos I'm a soft-hearted bugger, an' you can spend the day showing him the ropes. Introduce him to a few people...those you reckon he'll maybe talk to..and I'll give him a week's trial. And y'can't say fairer than that."  
Impulsively, Ritchie hugged Trevor, who went bright red and batted him off. "Go on, y'daft bugger."

*******

Ritchie knocked on the door of the flat and entered without waiting for a reply.  
"Hey, Ritchie" George's big smile greeted him, the sleeve of his shirt stained an unusual red from making a sauce.  
Paul stood up too, his smile rather shy and hesitant, as he still felt awkward about the worry he'd put them through. It was Paul that Ritchie now addressed, bursting with his news.  
"Paul, I've got a job for you at the hospital, starting Monday. Nothing grand, just an orderly, mopping floors, n'that. Trevor said I can show you the ropes. What d'you think?"  
George moved in quickly, encouraging.  
"That's awesome, mate."  
Paul looked stunned. He stammered a few words...  
"What?" Ritchie asked, trying hard to bounce him along, not let him think....or overthink. Paul had a huge problem with overthinking things.  
"I..I..I'm not sure..I mean..Will I have to talk to people?"  
Oh yes, the big concern.  
"Beyond saying okay when you're asked to do something, no. I'm gonna be with you on your first day, so chill!"  
George smiled at Paul.  
"Just give it a go, eh? Don't like it, don't have to do it."  
Inwardly Paul just wanted to hide away from the world, but he also wanted to please his friends. He chewed his lip nervously.  
"You'll be with me?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Yeah, I'll be with you."  
Paul nodded cautiously. "Okay...Okay, then."

"Trevor, this is Paul"  
Trevor glanced up at the dark-haired young man standing nervously in front of him. Trevor had a brief image in his mind of a deer about to take flight. He remembered what Ritchie had said, and kept his interaction brief.  
"Hello Paul."  
He heard a mumbled greeting, and noted a shift of movement from the slight figure.  
"So, our Ritchie here is gonna show you round, give you an idea of what goes on. Reckon you can cope with that?"   
Paul nodded, his voice gone with nerves.  
"Okay..we'll meet up here at eleven for a tea break and you can tell me what you think of it.." Trevor caught Ritchie's warning glance, and amended swiftly .." or Ritchie can tell me what you think. We're a mad lot here, and if you're friends with Ritchie I should think you'll fit in. Y'know what they say...y'don't have to be mad to work here, but it helps!"  
He smiled at Paul, and to his surprise received an answering smile. He found himself strangely moved.  
"Right. Off y'go, then" he said gruffly, covering his confusion.

It was six at night, and Ritchie was sitting having a cuppa with Trevor, having returned Paul safely home first.  
"Thanks for that, Trevor..y'know, for giving him a chance"  
Trevor, divested of his uniform, leaned back in his chair and drank deeply from his cup.  
"S'okay, Ritchie. I'd do most things for you, y'know that. So...got on okay did he then?"  
"Yeah, absolutely fine. Even managed to talk to Doris"  
"Ah, Doris the tea lady..we all want her on our side. So..."Trevor took another sip, and looked closely at Ritchie." What's the story?"  
"Eh?"  
"This lad..this Paul..what's the story? Something tells me summat's gone on, or I'm a monkey's uncle"  
Ritchie pulled a face.  
"Yeah, you're right..."  
"Ah..thought so.."  
"...but I can't say. Not my place. I was told in confidence by a mutual friend, but he's been through a pretty rough time over the last few years."  
Trevor looked thoughtfully at Ritchie.  
"Anything that's likely to affect his ability to work here?"  
"No..no, nothing I can think of."  
Trevor hummed. He shifted on his seat, and looked at Ritchie.  
"He's a good-looking lad, isn't he? Have a few skirts after him."  
Ritchie just smiled vaguely. There was no need to say anything.  
Trevor hummed again.  
"Well..I see you've your own thoughts. Fair enough. Okay, Ritchie, we'll give him a go. If he works as good as he looks he oughta be okay."

Outside the late January day was drawing to a close. Ritchie breathed deeply of the cold air, and said a silent thanks that the day for Paul seemed to have gone okay. He turned his steps towards home. Maybe he and John could share a meal tonight, settle down with Netflix on the telly. Could he actually start to relax? Could it be that life for all of them was about to take an upturn? He felt hopeful.  
Now look at those two guys over there sharing a cuddle. They were obviously not embarrassed to be seen. Good for them, Ritchie cheered. He watched them share a goodbye kiss and part. He smiled to himself, then suddenly his smile dropped. He recognised one of the guys...it was Dean, John's boyfriend. But the other guy was not John.


	15. I need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, finally, they meet

Ritchie hugged the information to himself. He'd debated endlessly whether or not to tell John what he'd seen, but finally decided against it. It could be a coincidence. A fluke. There could be a genuine reason. Whatever, he didn't feel he should be the one to shatter John's illusions. Over the last couple of weeks John had appeared very happy. He'd been seeing Dean regularly, and hadn't felt the need to bring home any random lays.  
Ritchie was uncomfortable both with what he'd seen and his own feelings about Dean, but he had to admit John seemed to be walking on air.

On the other hand, Ritchie mused as he made himself a mug of tea, it was good to see Paul finding his feet. The job wasn't fantastic, and Paul was obviously capable of far more, but it had provided him with some much-needed independence. And, what was more, he was handling it. Trevor, in his big-hearted way, had taken Paul under his wing, made sure that his work shifts tallied with Ritchie's, so that he felt he had someone he could go to if he had a wobble. Luckily Paul hadn't had a wobble, and had reached a stage where he could chat to some of the other porters without becoming a nervous wreck. As January rolled into a dingy drab February, Ritchie's naturally optimistic character began to bubble up.

His phone pinged with a text from George.  
"Pub? After work? Alone?"  
Ritchie messaged back with a suggested time and place. He knew it would concern Paul if George wanted to see him on his own. He wasn't worried, though. Everything seemed fine in that quarter. So it was with a light heart he met with George at a convenient local that evening.  
Once settled with a pint each, he quirked an eyebrow at George.  
"So, Georgie, what's up? Problem?"  
George took a deep swig of his beer, managing to trickle some through his hair and over his jumper.  
"Sort of..hoping you can help..."  
"Paul?"  
"How d'you guess?" he grinned. "Y'see...Rami has booked me on a cookery course...it's residential, in Manchester,...in a couple of weeks..."  
"That's fantastic, mate..."  
George's smile was so big that Ritchie had a vision of teeth, fangs and hair...and the sun coming out.  
"Innit? So excited!! It's Monday to Thursday..be amazing..to learn some new skills. Yeah, so...Paul.."  
"Y'don't wanna leave him...."  
George nodded. "Got it in one. I know he's doing' really well, but...." he shrugged.." the neighbour said he'd feed the cat......"George looked closely at Ritchie.." D'you think you could put Paul up for a few days? I mean...I know you're doing the same shift times at the moment. It would mean he wouldn't have to be on his own, and....."  
Ritchie gave a reassuring smile "Don't have to explain, mate, course I can. Got a spare room and a camp bed..he'll be fine."  
George's big grin reappeared. "Ta, mate...weight off me mind, y'know?"  
At the back of Ritchie's mind there was a small niggle...it went by the name of John. But he'd sort that.  
"Will he mind? He could come home with me that day after work, if he brings his things to work that day. He can bring his guitar."  
"Yeah..I'll, er...not raised it yet with him. I don't want him to feel I don't trust him..."  
".....even if y'don't"  
George grimaced. "Yeah....I just don't..."he shook his head, the ends of his hair trailing through his beer.."don't wanna go through all that again, Ritchie."  
"Well, what if I ask him about coming to stay with me, rather than it coming from you? It won't look as if you're farming him out then. I can entice him with Netflix!!"

Of course, when Ritchie suggested this to Paul, he saw a flash within the dark eyes.  
"He doesn't trust me, does he?" Paul stated.  
Ritchie squirmed. "Well...surely you don't want to be on your own for a week..."  
"...in case I try to top meself again, y'mean?"  
"No Paul.."  
"Yes Paul, I think." Paul gave a wry smile. "It's okay, I don't deserve any less...but yes, if it helps stop George worrying, I'll come."  
Ritchie breathed a sigh of relief.  
Paul suddenly looked thoughtful.  
"I've never been to your house"  
Ritchie drew a sharp intake of breath, and was immediately on edge again.  
"Oh, it's...not much. Not far from here."  
"Has George ever been?"  
"No...er, no. I was always gonna invite you both round but.." Ritchie shrugged.." what with work, and George's awkward hours, it never happened."  
Paul nodded solemnly. "George'll really enjoy doing that cookery course."  
Ritchie agreed. But his mind was in a whirl. Of course Paul had been before. Would he recognise it? Would he recognise John? And, above all, would John behave?  
Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound.  
"Paul...."  
"Hmm?"  
"..when y'come, bring y'guitar."

**************************

"Do I tell John? Shall I leave it? See what happens?"  
For the next week, these were the thoughts going round and round in Ritchie's head. He was fine in the day. Daylight hours seemed to minimalise problems. He saw Paul everyday. They shared their tea breaks and lunch hours together, and Ritchie would make plans..even if only vague ones...for what they would do over those few days. Ritchie got Paul to list his favourite food, films and drink, and they planned a few evenings with Netflix.  
"And your guitar...while I cook, you can entertain me."  
Paul giggled. "Does the outcome of the food depend on a good rendition?"  
"Undoubtedly, son" Ritchie snorted.

But Ritchie didn't see John. He heard him come home late every night, and in the morning he would still be asleep when Ritchie left. He wasn't around at the weekend either, so Ritchie assumed that Dean must still be on the radar then. And so it reached Monday and that evening Paul would be returning with him. Ritchie had cleaned the boxroom, making sure Paul would be as comfortable as possible. He cast a silent prayer that all would be okay.

Paul arrived at work that morning complete with guitar and an Indian inspired rucksack he'd borrowed from George to carry his clothes in. Although he'd not said anything, and was only too aware of the fact Ritchie was having him in order to keep an eye on him, Paul was actually quite excited to be going to Ritchie's to stay. His life had been George's tiny flat for seventeen months, and just to be somewhere different was a novelty.

As they walked the short distance to Ritchie's house they chatted companiably. Ritchie found himself quite entranced by Paul's company. He had a quirky sense of humour, and a gentle character. Ritchie shuddered when he thought how close Paul had come to losing his life.  
As they approached the little terrace with the green painted door Ritchie felt, rather than saw, Paul hesitate slightly.  
"No, no, don't think, Paul...please don't think" Ritchie begged inwardly.  
But Paul remained close on his heels and didn't say anything, although Ritchie could see his big hazel eyes scrutinising every little detail.  
When Ritchie unlocked the front door and ushered Paul in, he could sense the hesitation in the young man even stronger. For a second, he thought Paul was going to drop everything and run. He had to say something.  
"Okay, Paul?"  
Paul blushed slightly, unaware that his hesitancy had been noticed.  
"Oh, yeah, fine..fine, thanks"  
But all the time his eyes were darting about, trying to place the memory.  
"Come on, let's take your stuff upstairs, yeah? I've put you in the boxroom.....s'not very big, but bigger than what you've got at George's."  
Ritchie headed up the stairs. He could hear Paul behind him, but the lad had gone very quiet. Shit, Ritchie thought...he'd been relying on Paul not recognising the place in daylight.  
"This okay for you?" Ritchie waved his hand at the bed, and turned to face Paul. Fuck! Paul was chewing his bottom lip nervously, his eyes wary.  
"Paul?"  
Paul turned huge eyes on him, and Ritchie could read the worry in them all too clearly.  
"Do you have a flat mate?"  
Shit. Shit.  
"Yeah..more a housemate, it being a house "Ritchie joked. "His name's John. He's not here very often..in fact, I've not seen him for over a week" Ritchie added truthfully.  
Paul nodded solemnly.  
"Oh, right."  
"Come on, mate..get yourself sorted. I'll go and put the kettle on and when you come down you can have a look at the menu on Netflix and choose us a film. Er..it's an old house, an' the shower and loo are off the kitchen. Useful when you're downstairs, but a pain in the neck in the middle of the night. The light switch is there for the stairs..Okay? Don't want you falling arse over tip in the dark"

Ritchie passed Paul a mug of tea, and as their fingers touched Ritchie could feel the tension in Paul's. It seemed the whole of his body was like a coiled spring.  
"So...shepherds pie, peas and Deepwater Horizon, right?"  
Ritchie was trying hard to pull Paul out, and began to understand what George had gone through.  
Paul just nodded, still on edge. He'd been here before. He knew he had.  
"Why don't you play me something while I cook?" Ritchie suggested hopefully.  
Paul nodded, and curled himself up on the settee where he could watch Ritchie preparing the meal. He carefully tuned the guitar, and ran a few chords, finger picking them fluently. As he began to play, he started to relax. Ritchie, watching, could almost visibly see the tension leave Paul's body as he curved over his guitar, hugging it closely to him, and started humming along to an old fifties song that Ritchie recognised as a Buddy Holly oldie.  
Ritchie equally felt himself begin to relax as he cooked the mince. The kitchen filled with steam and savoury smells, Paul was by now quietly singing, and Ritchie began humming along with him.

Suddenly the door into the parlour flung open, bringing with it a blast of cold air from outside. The music stopped instantly, as if Paul had been cut off.  
Ritchie looked up, startled out of his musings, to see John, knitted scarf round his neck, glasses steamed up from the cold, auburn hair curling from the damp. Ritchie turned the gas off and emerged into the parlour.  
"John?"  
John was standing in bewilderment looking at Paul.  
Paul was on his feet facing John, the settee providing a natural barrier between them.  
Ritchie could feel the electricity crackling in the air.  
He glanced swiftly at Paul who was in flight mode, poised to go, his eyes wide.  
John looked at Ritchie in puzzlement.  
"What the fuck's he doing here?"  
It wasn't meant in anger. John was simply curious. But a blush spread up Paul's face.  
Ritchie stepped in quickly.  
"John, this is Paul...he's staying for.."  
"I know who the fuck he is" John interrupted." Just asked why?"  
As Ritchie went to reply, another figure arrived behind John, divesting himself of an expensive overcoat as he entered the parlour and took in the little scene. Dean. Ritchie felt his hackles rise as Dean surveyed the tableaux.  
Then he raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic smile touching his lips as his eyes swept over Paul's poised for flight figure.  
"Well, hello....I've not seen you for a long long time. It's Paul, isn't it? Luke's boyfriend. I'm right, aren't I? Do you remember me?" Dean moved further into the room.  
Suddenly, Paul was gone. He moved so swiftly it took all of them by surprise.  
Ritchie heard the front door slam.  
He swore silently, shut his eyes for a second, then opened them to see John and Dean watching him closely.  
"Thanks very much" he muttered between gritted teeth.  
John looked surprised, almost hurt. He'd not intended to cause an upset. But it wasn't John who caught Ritchie's eye. It was Dean. His face looked like that of the cat who'd just got the cream. And all Ritchie wanted to do was knock the smug smile off his face.


	16. We can work it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and John to the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so enjoying writing this and sorry for all I'm putting you through...angst, angst!!

John was seriously apologetic. Ritchie could see that. It was typical of John to blurt something out without thinking first.  
"Ritchie, I didn't mean...honestly, why didn't you tell me he was coming? It took me by surprise..."  
Ritchie was struggling into his coat as he replied.."...because I've not fucking seen you, John...not for days. I was gonna tell you but..."  
"..you coulda messaged me?...."  
"...I wanted to explain why I'd got Paul...too complicated by text....Shit...where'd Paul put his coat?" Ritchie rummaged in the closet, knocking over objects as he did so.  
John stood there twirling the end of his scarf.  
"D'you want me help look for him?"  
He felt he needed to offer some assistance.  
Ritchie drew a deep breath and looked closely at John, his glance falling on an unperturbed Dean who was calmly surveying the altercation.  
Ritchie bit back the words he wanted to say, and simply replied "No...I'll go look for him. You just see to your boyfriend, eh?"  
And Ritchie was gone.

John turned to Dean, who widened his smile at the eye contact.  
"Well...there's a little drama, eh?" Dean offered.  
Something didn't quite sit right with John. He unwound his scarf and shrugged out of his jacket.  
"How d'you know Paul?" John asked curiously, a worrying niggle starting at the back of his mind.  
Dean smirked, and that annoyed John, though he didn't show it.  
"Oh, ho. I should think there's a lot of guys know Paul."  
Patronising bastard, John thought, as the niggle started to grow.  
"Yeah, maybe..."John refused to be drawn in to the inference." But how do YOU know him, and who is Luke?"  
"Luke is a friend of mine, we have some..." he paused, pursing his lips "..mm..business connections. Paul was Luke's boyfriend...a sort of live-in lover, I guess you'd say." Dean raised his eyebrows suggestively.." He, er...well...I guess the most polite way I can put this without offending your dainty ears is that most of Luke's friends knew Paul...knew him very well, if you get my meaning."  
Dean's smile was far too insinuating for John's liking, and he played dumb.  
"No, I don't get your meaning!" John spat, making his voice undeniably Scouse in its inflection.  
Dean's smile faded. He shrugged.  
"Well, sorry if I don't choose to make it any clearer. I would have thought a clever lad like you would have picked up my meaning." Dean's smile had dropped, and a frown was creasing his face. His comments hadn't had the desired effect from John, and it left him feeling uneasy.  
The niggle had moved to the front of John's head now.  
"You're saying you tossed a young lad without any defences out to a group of pervs to do what they wanted...is that what you're saying?"  
Dean's smile had gone. He shrugged. "He asked for it"  
"Oh? Asked for it, did he? Stood there and said shag me, did he?"  
"John...."  
"No...don't fucking John me...sounds to me like you've been involved in some shady dealings. And what of this Luke now?"  
Dean was stony faced. "What of him?"  
"Cared so much about Paul he saw him out on the streets, did he?"  
"Actually, no" Dean gave a twisted smile. "Paul disappeared one evening. Luke never managed to find him, not for want of trying. He searched all over. Well" Dean gave a noncommittal shrug. "He'd probably be very interested to hear my news."  
John's breath caught. "You wouldn't?"  
Dean picked his coat up, slipping it on, before replying.  
"Why wouldn't I? He's nothing. Just a slut. Maybe that's what you like." He gave John a cold smile. "I expect that's it, then? Good while it lasted. See you around."  
The door closed behind him.  
John stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. Then he swore quietly to himself, grabbed his jacket, wound his scarf back round his neck, and set off in search of Ritchie.

Paul had fled from the house, his mind a flood of mixed emotions. The fact he'd no coat, that it was cold, dark and wet meant nothing to him. All he knew was that he needed to escape.

Dean. He'd not thought to see him again. One of Luke's closest friends, and a frequent visitor to the penthouse flat. Once Paul had stopped doing 'deliveries' for Luke, and had been incarcerated in the flat, he'd seen plenty of Dean.  
In the early days of their relationship, Luke had been very indulgent towards Paul, buying him clothes and books, and, Paul's pride and joy, an electric piano that he would spend hours playing. He had no music, but he would make up melody lines, and play around with different harmonies. In those early days, there had been very few visitors, and those who did come Luke would get Paul to play to them, seemingly proud of his young partner. As times changed, Luke's business grew, and he had to find other guys to do the drops for him. He kept Paul inside, aware that he had a face far too many people would easily recall. And as his business grew, his infatuation with Paul waned. He turned to men who were nearer his own age. Paul became an encumbrance, a noose around his neck. Luke couldn't get rid of him, he knew far too much. The guys who were now doing drops for him he had culled from a different culture...these were already folks living outside the law. But not Paul...he was too nice for that.  
The change in Luke's attitude towards Paul was subtle..little things that would leave Paul puzzling, thinking he was imagining them. The locks changed on the doors. Next was locks on windows. Then he wasn't allowed to answer the door. Finally, Luke gave Paul his own room, clearing him out of the master bedroom they'd always shared into the small, lemon painted spare room that was just big enough for a bed and a set of drawers.  
"You need your own space" Luke had said by way of explanation.  
Then Luke started leaving him for longer and longer periods. Paul would wander, barefoot in jeans, around the spacious flat, bored and lonely.  
Then one day, as he sat playing the piano, Luke had come back with another couple of guys about his own age, one of whom had been Dean. Paul had immediately stopped playing, and surveyed the visitors from unfathomable dark eyes. Luke had given him a smile, but his eyes held no warmth. He'd waved a hand in Paul's direction.  
"This is Paul"  
He held their gaze for a minute, then dropped his eyes, not liking the expressions he saw there.  
"Jesus , Luke, he's just a baby!" one of them exclaimed. Colour rose in Paul's face. Luke shook his head in amusement.  
"Not that young, Charles...he's nineteen."  
Paul kept his eyes lowered, but was aware he was being scrutinised. Someone moved across the thick cream carpet, their shoes noiseless. Then a hand took his arm, and pulled him up from the piano stool. Paul looked up in bewilderment to meet a pair of steely blue eyes that held a hint of amusement and something else in their depths that Paul didn't want to guess at.  
"May I?" the guy who'd pulled him from the stool asked of Luke.  
Luke nodded. "Help yourself, Dean. That's his room."  
Paul's head shot up in alarm, his eyes widening. He had a pretty good idea where this was going. He looked appealingly at Luke, but Luke just gave him a nod and an empty smile.  
This guy, Dean, had his hand tight around Paul's arm, and propelled him into the small bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them. He looked appreciatively at Paul, and reached out to stroke his face, running his thumb down from cheekbone and pausing on his lips. Dean could hear Paul's breath coming in short bursts. He smiled, slipped his fingers under Paul's waistband, and tugged him towards him.  
"You're a beautiful thing, aren't you? Not surprised Luke's kept you locked away."  
He began undoing the buttons on Paul's shirt, never once dropping his eye contact. He could read the panic in Paul's eyes. He gave him a small smile.  
"It'll be okay" Dean whispered, removing the shirt and running his hands down Paul's body "it'll be okay. You know what to do. Just leave it to me."  
Dean's fingers fumbled with the button and waistband of Paul's jeans, then he pulled them down in one swift movement, at the same time pushing Paul down onto the bed.  
Then Paul started to really panic, his breath coming faster. He tried to push Dean off him.  
"Ssh...ssh" Dean hushed him. Paul wouldn't hush. He struggled and started to call for Luke. Finally, in an attempt to quieten him, Dean backhanded him across his face. A red mark sprang up, and Paul fell silent.  
"That's better.." Dean said. He wiped a stray tear "ssh..don't cry. I'm not gonna hurt you."  
He stood up, swiftly removing his own trousers, then lowered himself on top of Paul, again keeping close eye contact. He could feel Paul's body trembling as he fought to get his breath under control. He pushed the dark locks out of Paul's eyes.  
"I think you'd better get used to this, love." Dean whispered. "I reckon this is how it's gonna be for you in future."

Dean had been one of Paul's regular visitors, and it had been a shock to see his face again. Paul was in such a panic he ran till his lungs were burning. He didn't know where he was, what direction his legs had taken him in, only aware that he needed to move. He darted across a road, wet and slippery in the rain, had a brief image of traffic lights in the gloom, someone calling out, and a squeal of brakes.

Ritchie had darted out the house not far behind Paul, but fear had lent speed to Paul's legs, and there was no sign of him. Ritchie paused, thinking, trying to see the road as Paul would, working out where he would be most likely to run. His eyes fell on the junction to another street. If you wanted to disappear quickly you went round corners. Catching his breath, Ritchie fled down Minton Street, knowing it led to the High Street where late night shops would still be open. Christ, what would George say if he lost Paul. He was panicking, annoyed at John, angry at Dean. Just when things had been.......

Shit!!...the High Street...near the traffic lights...a car and a van at odd angles to one another...a group of people, gesticulating, arguing...hands and arms being waved...and a police car, blue light flashing. Jesus! Ritchie approached swiftly, his eyes scanning the scene. He could hear the comments, the shouting  
"Not my fault..."  
"..out the blue, didn't look..."  
".. just ran out in front of me.."  
"...wonder he's not been hit.."  
"Now, now, calm down...let's take this one at a time" the police were trying to get some order.  
Paul. He could see him. Someone...some Asian woman in a headscarf..had her arm around him. Thank God he wasn't hurt. Ritchie hurried to them, and the woman looked up.  
"Paul? Jesus, are you okay?"  
Paul looked at Ritchie. He looked lost. Bewildered.  
"Is he with you?" the woman asked in her broken English. Ritchie nodded.  
"He is in shock, I think" she added.  
The policeman homed in on Ritchie.  
"Do you know this young man?" he enquired.  
"Yeah...Yeah, I do...I..."  
"Well, he's bloody lucky to be alive. Ran straight in front of this van..."  
"'Ere mate, if he's with you, y'wanna look after him a bit better..I nearly bloody hit him."  
"Okay, thank you. Let me sort it" the policeman admonished the van driver. He turned back to Ritchie.  
"Has he been drinking?"  
"No!" Ritchie almost laughed hysterically at such a question, mainly out of relief at finding Paul in one piece  
"No, he hasn't. He just had an upsetting piece of news and..I'm sorry. I'm sorry for any trouble."  
People were starting to disperse, muttering. The guy with the van was checking his vehicle. The woman with the headscarf was still hugging Paul, talking reassuringly to him. Then, suddenly, John was there, leather jacket, knitted scarf, pausing by Ritchie's side.  
"Is he okay?" he asked between gasps of breath. Ritchie nodded dumbly. "Shock, they reckon."  
John took Paul's jacket out of Ritchie's numb fingers, and went to Paul's side. He nodded to the Asian woman, who released Paul into John's hold.  
While Ritchie watched in amazement, John slung the jacket round Paul's shoulders, placed Paul's arm around the back of John's neck, and in one swift movement bodily lifted Paul into his arms and turned his steps towards home.

"Better get him seen to, son" the policeman suggested into Ritchie's ear. He could only stand there open mouthed and nod.


	17. Just like starting over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul getting to know one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to so many people for all your comments, suggestions.....it's fascinating to me to see how many have been pulled into this story....and so many different ways you all want it to go!

With Paul in his arms, John's feet pounded the rain slick streets back to the little terrace house. His lips were drawn together in a thin line, partly from the effort of carrying the weight of a full grown man, even if Paul was a lightweight, but also in anger. And that anger gave strength to his arms and speed to his feet.

His brief but illuminating conversation with Dean had really riled him. John might have an impulsive nature, might make brash statements, might rub people up the wrong way, but underneath all that he had a strong sense of justice, and hated to see anyone wronged. He glanced down at the young man he carried. Paul had closed his eyes, and his head rested against John's shoulder. Dean had been very dismissive of Paul's person, and that angered John.  
His own background had taught him that youngsters often found themselves in situations not of their own making, and without the knowledge and skills to extricate themselves. If John had not been of such a tough nature, he could well have found himself in the same difficulty as Paul. No one, in John's mind, should simply be cast aside as being of no consequence. He knew if it had not been for Ritchie who had taken him in and helped him find his own worth again he could easily have found himself as abandoned as Paul did. He was determined to show his thanks to Ritchie by stepping in to help. 

Ritchie took off as fast as his short legs could manage after John. He could see the leather jacket clad figure striding ahead in the dim light. He struggled to catch up, just about reaching John's side as he arrived at the green painted front door. Ritchie's breath was coming in short bursts.  
"God...John..sl..slow d..down a..a.." he gasped.."..a ..bit.."  
John was in such a burning rage by now he'd almost forgotten Ritchie.  
"Here..hang..hang on.."Ritchie fumbled in his pocket." ..let me find me keys....."  
John turned to face Ritchie, his face registering embarrassment as he came down to earth.  
"I, er, I didn't lock the door, Ritch..I just ran out..."  
Ritchie pushed the door and it swung inwards on its hinges.  
He pulled a face at John. "Ah, well..no..no harm done, eh? Shall we g..get him in?"  
As Ritchie spoke the words, John suddenly became aware of the weight in his arms and how they were aching.  
Ritchie dropped his voice as they entered the building.  
"Is he asleep?"  
"I dunno..might just be a bit shell-shocked..."  
"..just..here..." Ritchie shifted cushions round.." ..put him down here...."  
John lowered Paul onto the settee. Paul gave no sign of being conscious, his body sliding easily out of John's arms.  
"What do we do now?" John's whisper was almost theatrical in it's intensity. His brow was furrowed, his amber eyes narrowed, glinting in the light.  
"Well...we've not eaten..Paul's not eaten.."  
"....think he's out for the count..."  
"I could carry on making shepherds pie?"  
John grinned suddenly.  
"Sounds good to me. What else did you have planned for this evening then?"  
"Well..Paul had fancied Deepwater Horizon.."  
"Hmm..good choice."  
Paul suddenly gave a deep sigh, and rolled over onto his side. They both looked at him anxiously.  
"D'you think he's okay, John? I mean...." Ritchie waved his hand in the air to demonstrate the whole situation.  
"Your guess is as good as mine, mate. Could be in a bit of shock...might have just switched off..recovering, like, y'know.." John replied.  
"Well...should I wake him for a meal? Shit!" Ritchie had a sudden thought." We're both supposed to be in work tomorrow..d'you reckon he'll be okay for that?"  
John shrugged as he slipped his jacket off.  
"Tell y'what..why doncha just make that pie an' when it's ready we'll see if we can rouse him."  
Ritchie hung his coat in the closet and hummed an agreement.

"Paul? Paul, wake up" John shook the slight figure. Paul's lashes...far too long for a bloke, John thought..fluttered, then his eyes opened. For a moment they were clouded with confusion, then they focused on John's face which was inches from him. With a gasp, Paul pushed himself up, scrabbling for leverage, in an attempt to get out of John's reach.  
"It's okay Paul...everything's okay"  
Ritchie's voice. John and Paul both looked round at him at the same time. Ritchie was coming in with bottles of chilled beer , a big smile on his face. Paul glanced warily at John, but he was simply greeting Ritchie joyfully at the appearance of the beers. Paul pushed a trembling hand through his dark locks, unsure as to what had happened.  
"How y'feeling?" Ritchie asked him, passing him a beer.  
John casually moved Paul's legs to one side and perched on the settee near to him. Paul flinched at the contact, but neither John nor Ritchie seemed to think the action unusual. He turned his eyes to Ritchie questioningly.  
"Feeling?' he queried, dazedly.  
"Yeah, after...."Ritchie and John exchanged a puzzled glance.  
Wham!! It was back. Dean!! Paul paled, and his breathing shortened. His flight, the van, and..how did he ever get back here?   
Ritchie and John saw his memory return as a myriad of emotions crossed Paul's face like a book whose pages were blowing in the wind. He looked at them hopelessly.  
"It's okay...." John...John, of everyone,... John reached his hand out and placed it on Paul's thigh. "You're okay..everything's fine. Don't panic."  
Paul's eyes met John's. In them Paul saw empathy, and warmth.  
"Still want Deepwater Horizon and shepherds pie?' Ritchie asked chirpily.  
"How...what..how..."shit..Paul shook his head, trying to form a sentence.." ..I...I ran..."  
"That you did, son. Nearly caused an accident, an'all" Ritchie confirmed as he put trays out for them to use.  
"How?...did I?...did anyone...I mean..No one got hurt, did they?"  
"Nope. Think you just shook a few people up, that's all."  
"How did I get back?" Thank God, a coherent sentence at last. John shifted awkwardly. Ritchie gave him a warm smile.  
"Sir Johncelot carried you" Ritchie joked.   
Paul drew his knees up to his chest, accepted the offered bottle of beer, and surveyed John from wide eyes.  
"Wasn't I a bit heavy?" he asked.  
The question was so unexpected both Ritchie and John burst out laughing. It was also a release of the stress they'd all been under, therefore the laughter was more raucous than it would usually have been. Paul realised the absurdity of his question, and his lips curled in a smile.  
Suddenly the ice was broken. Ritchie was serving the food, John setting up Netflix, Paul making sure everyone had somewhere to sit. By the end of the evening it was as if Paul had always been there, and if he shyly glanced at John every now and then, remembering an occasion from many months ago, the glances were determinedly ignored.

Later that evening, as Ritchie did the final bit of tidying up in the kitchen, he glanced into the parlour. Paul and John were sitting together still on the settee where they'd been all evening, but they were talking quietly together. Ritchie strained his ears to listen. He caught Paul's slightly softer voice explaining something, then he heard John's more nasal tone reply. Music. Paul was talking about music. Next moment Ritchie heard some minor chords gently fingerpicked, and a flourishing solo descending down the fretboard of a guitar. Paul had the instrument cradled in his lap as he demonstrated a piece to John. He could hear John's probing questions, and Paul's soft replies.   
Ritchie lips quirked in a smile. Who would have thought? Well, actually, he admonished himself, I would have. I knew they'd get on.  
He dried his hands on the tea towell and headed into the parlour. They were both so engrossed they hardly noticed him.  
"Hey, guys, glad you're enjoying y'selves, but we do have work tomorrow, an' I'm off to bed now."  
John glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.  
"Fuck! Didn't realise it was that late! "  
Paul turned his eyes to the clock also, his mind miles away still on his music.  
"Okay, Ritch, we won't be long." John assured him.  
"Yeah, well, Paul, y'know ..show him upstairs will y'?"  
"Sure" John smiled, and nodded at Paul. "I'll look after him."

It was the middle of the night, and all was dark. Ritchie had no idea what woke him, but he became aware of a light still burning on the landing. He padded downstairs in his dressing gown, and noticed there was also a light still showing under the parlour door. Something warned him to open it quietly.  
In years to come, this was the image that remained so clearly in his mind. The guitar had slipped out of Paul's tired fingers on to the floor, and lay on the rug.  
John was spreadeagled on the settee, his mouth open, gently snoring, his boots kicked off, his auburn hair sticking in all directions where it rested on a cushion.  
Between John's outspread legs, dark head buried on John's chest, lay Paul, equally fast asleep, curled contentedly up and looking completely at peace. One of John's arms was round the younger boy, preventing him from falling off.   
Ritchie smiled to himself, feeling almost tearful. He switched off the light, and tiptoed quietly from the room.

Ritchie's nose led him downstairs to the smell of bacon frying. John, whistling a merry tune and still in the clothes he'd fallen asleep in, was standing spatula in hand at the cooker.  
"Morning Ritchie" he greeted, his face happier than Ritchie had seen it for a long time.  
Ritchie rubbed his tired eyes bemusedly.  
"Morning John. I trust you slept well?" There was a gentle rebuke in Ritchie's response, and John had the grace to blush slightly.  
"Yup..like a log, ta."  
"Where's Paul?"  
John nodded in the direction of the bathroom.  
"Havin' a quick shower..he'll be ready for work so don't fret, Ritchi!"  
"Had a good night, did you?"  
John paused, spatula in the air. Suddenly his face was serious, the smile gone.  
"We didn't do anything..."  
Ritchie hastened to reassure.  
"I didn't say you had..."  
"No, but" John heaved a sigh " I wouldn't. I couldn't, not after everything he's been through."  
"I wasn't suggesting..."  
John suddenly flashed a smile, and wiggled his eyebrows.  
"Not that I don't fancy him, mind."


	18. Slipping and sliding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Dean meet, Paul sees someone from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am about to write a very short chapter as I've had some posting problems..if this works okay, I will continue!

John was busy serving a customer when his phone pinged with a message coming in. Without breaking the sales patter he glanced down at his phone to see the notification...Dean. He smiled at the customer.  
"Yeah..great band. Got some of them meself. Hope you enjoy it. Sure...will do. See you again."  
John flipped his text on.  
'John. Sorry bout yes2day..4give..let's talk. Drink later?'

John slipped the phone back into his pocket, his mind tumbling back to that morning. He'd been woken by the insistent bleeping of his mobile alarm, and had been astonished to find himself spreadeagled on the settee, Paul's dark head buried in restful slumber on his chest.  
He found the phone down the side of a cushion, and quickly silenced the increasing volume of the alarm before it aroused Paul. He pushed himself backwards, trying to extricate his legs from underneath Paul's slumbering figure without waking him, thus avoiding any embarrassing situations.  
But as he slid his legs from beneath Paul, the younger man suddenly lost his support, and rolled onto the floor, narrowly missing his guitar. John heard an "Oomph" as he landed on the carpet.  
Paul struggled dazedly to his knees, dark hair wild, and looked around.  
"What the fuck?"  
John got to his feet.  
"What the fuck indeed son. Seems we never made it to bed last night. "  
He smiled as he watched Paul rub his head bemusedly.  
"Do you often sleep on the floor" he enquired in a British upper-class accent?"  
"Only when there's no where else to go, Johnny" Paul replied.  
Johnny. John rolled it round his tongue. Johnny. He liked that.


	19. Chapter 19

I'm really sorry to all who are following this story but I'm having issues with posting. This chapter has now been written twice.....and lost!! frustrating...as for some reason A03 doesn't think I'm logged in and keeps requesting me to Log in again and won't let me post. I am waiting to hear from the support team. Bear with me.


	20. Slipping and sliding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Dean, Paul sees someone from the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay my lovelies, until this posting issue is sorted, I'm going to publish Slipping and Sliding in VERY short chapterettes (is there such a word?).

"Excuse me?"  
He'd held out his hand to help Paul up, and after a moment's hesitation, Paul had taken it.His fingers had tingled at the contact. Had Paul's? He thought so, for he'd heard Paul's breath hitch.  
"Erm...excuse me?"  
Paul had looked momentarily lost, black hair in disarray, eyes misty. They'd dropped each other's hands swiftly, embarassed.  
"I'm really sorry to bother you, but do you work here?"  
John came back down with a bump, startled to see a customer peering at him warily.  
"Oh, er, yeah, sorry...miles away. Can I help you?"  
The customer gave a broad smile.  
"Must be a good-looking girl"  
John beamed. "Oh, he is!"

Later, he read the text from Dean.  
'John. Sorry. Pls 4give. Drink? '  
John sighed. He'd had a good time with Dean. They'd been completely different. He struggled to think what the attraction had been now. Maybe having someone as suave and sophisticated as Dean had been like getting a trophy. Look what I've got! He sighed again. Out of fairness he should listen to him. After all, last night had been rather fraught. And words can be said in the heat of passion that aren't meant.  
He sent a brief message, just to keep him on his toes. Let him know he wasn't forgiven...yet.  
'When? Where?'

John saw Dean's silver B.M.W. parked in it's usual place at Alice's Bar. As he entered the popular hang out for twenty-somethings with lots of money in their pockets, his glasses immediately steamed up. Irritated, he took them off to wipe them on his scarf. He could sense the murmur of titters as he proceeded through the bar. Of course, leather jacket, Doc Martin's and tight denim jeans...let alone the long knitted scarf... were not de rigeur for such a place. Everyone he saw looked the same....designer labels at twenty paces and immaculately styled blonde hair. It was like a fucking uniform. Trust Dean to pick here. It suited him down to the ground. And where the fuck was he? John stuck his glasses back on and peered round the crowded bar. There he was! Seated at a table, talking animatedly to some other guys. His coat was slung over the back of a chair, his blonde hair gleaming in the pin spots. John strode over, people watching with amused eyes at his alternative attire.  
"John!" Dean rose from his seat, smile wide but guarded, never sure what John might do or say. "You came!"  
"Of course I did, y'wanker. Asked me, didn't y'?"  
Dean's smile dropped a little, but was quickly plastered back on.  
"Bumped into some friends here. Let me introduce you."  
John eyed them all suspiciously. He was always suspicious. It was second nature.  
"This is Mark". A man of about forty, smart but not overdone, rose with a smile and held out his hand to John. John shook it. It was strong and firm.  
"Nice to meet you John" he said.   
"This is Joshua" A young guy of about twenty was lounging, with a pout, arms folded, blonde....blonde again!...hair perfectly coiffed. He gazed in a bored way at John and just nodded. Fuck you, mate, John thought.  
"This is Stefan" hmm...oily smile, oily hair, looks a bit dodgy...." and this is Luke"  
Luke! John's head turned sharply at the name, and he found himself in full eye contact with a guy in his early thirties, blonde...yes, blonde...hair, and steely blue eyes. It was like the guy was boring into him. John nodded at them both, and Stefan nodded back. Luke simply kept his gaze locked on John.  
Don't be stupid, John chastised himself. There must be hundreds of Luke's in Liverpool.   
"What would you like to drink John?" Dean asked politely.  
"I'll have a pint of bitter!" John was in the mood to be awkward.  
Dean coloured, then passed it off as John being a joker.  
"But, John, it's a cocktail bar...."  
"Well, an' who chose this poncey nancy place then?"  
"Maybe I can get you a whisky and...."  
John smiled placatingly at Dean. "Maybe you could."  
As Dean made his way across to the bar, John sat down. Someone breathed into his ear.  
"Hello John. I've heard a lot about you"   
Luke! John gave his special idiotic smile which would normally deter most people. "Well I ain't heard of you."  
"You haven't? Pity." This guy was not easily deterred. "Been with Dean long, have you?"  
John shifted on his seat. What was this? An interrogation?  
"About three months...."  
"Hmm...nice. He's a good guy. Got some good connections. He'll go far one day. Stick with him, John."  
Luke slid surreptitiously back into his own seat as Dean approached with a drink.  
"Here you go, John. Try this."  
'This' wasn't bad. John rolled his tongue around the flavours.  
Mark sitting opposite him leaned across the table.  
"Like the......" he wiggled his fingers at his neck to indicate the scarf. John beamed as he unwound it, beginning to feel the warmth of the bar.  
"Thanks. I collect them. One for each day of the week plus a spare."  
It turned out Mark knew the shop John worked at and had his own collection of vinyl records. Soon they were deep into discussions about their favourite bands and music, Dr. Who and Star Trek. John completely forgot Dean and the others. He settled down, shrugging off his leather jacket. Another drink arrived for John, he had no idea who'd bought it.   
"I liked Martha Jones...now she was a good companion..."  
"No..well, yeah, but that other one...y'know, Catherine Tate...now that was brilliant..like when she gets a bit of the doctor in her..."  
Another drink. Then suddenly everyone seemed to flop. Dean smiled at John.  
"Okay?"  
"Yeah, fine"  
John looked at Joshua opposite. Poor guy was completely bored out of his mind. His arms were crossed over his narrow chest,and his long legs under the table, he'd slid lower and lower down, and his bottom lip was now in such an enormous pout it almost reached his chin. A thought occurred randomly to John. If this was THE Luke, then was this Paul's replacement? John addressed him in the quiet lull.  
"So, Joshua, do you live with Luke?"  
Astonished at being spoken to, and completely thrown by the question, Luke started, blushing and stammering a response.  
"John" Dean hissed. Everyone else shifted awkwardly.  
"What?" John retorted.  
Only Luke remained calm. His thin smile, with a chill warning in his eyes, was directed to John and John alone.  
"Yes John, Luke does live with me"  
"Hmm...like 'em young, do ya?"  
"What I do and do not like is no business of yours. But I will tell you this....what is mine is mine, and I do not relinquish my possessions willingly. In fact " his tongue slid out and back into his mouth rather like a snake, thought John, mesmerised."...John, I never relinquish them...if you get my meaning."


	21. Slipping and sliding...continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Dean meet, Paul sees someone from the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapterette....read Slipping and Sliding as one chapter

Ritchie was busy in the tiny kitchen peeling potatoes at the sink. He checked each one for blemishes before skilfully wielding the potato peeler. From the corner of his eye he could see Paul lounging against the doorframe, his fidgety fingers thrust deep into his jeans pockets, watching him intently. Finally, thinking Ritchie was unaware of him, Paul cleared his throat to get Ritchie's attention.  
"Er, Ritch? What time's John get back?"  
Ritchie turned to face him.  
"Depends, son. He's a law unto himself, that one. Why, are you bored?"  
He'd hit the nail on the head. Ritchie smiled inwardly at something George had once said to him about Paul '..he needs a lot of attention, that one. Get's bored easily'  
Paul blushed, and shifted, uncurling his long legs.  
"No, no, I'm fine. Just wondered, is all. We were gonna do a bit more practice when he got back...he said.." Paul moved away, a tall, lounging figure not sure what to do.  
Ritchie smiled, taking pity.  
"Why don't you have a rifle through the D.V.D.'s, see if you can find something to watch?"  
Ritchie heard a muffled response. His mind cast about, thinking of other things Paul could do.  
"And while your'e at it, look some cutlery out. Oh, and trays....three in case John gets back. And the brown sauce...it's under the stairs in the closet. If I don't hide it, John eats it all."  
Paul suddenly appeared in the doorway, lips upturned in an amused smile.  
"I'm not that bored, Ritchie!"  
"Just keeping you out of mischief, son."

Back at Alice's Bar, the others had departed, leaving Dean and John alone. Dean sipped his drink, and looked affectionately at John, running a hand over his blonde hair to make sure it was still in place.  
"So" he shifted a little nearer John "we're okay, are we?"  
It was more of a statement than a question, and John looked closely at him.  
"In what way?" John felt unsettled from his encounter with Luke, and wasn't going to make it easy for Dean.  
Dean indicated the two of them, waving his fingers.  
"You...me...everything okay?" Dean watched him anxiously.  
"I apologised, John." he added quietly.  
"Did you?" John ran his memory backwards, trying to remember what had been said. "I don't recall."  
"I said in the text....twice. Two texts" he amended.  
John raised an eyebrow at him. "Not the same as face to face."  
Dean bit his lip. "Okay...face to face. I'm sorry. Everything I said. I had no right..."  
"No, you didn't " John interrupted. "But seems to me your'e apologising to the wrong one. Mebbe it oughta be Paul you apologise to?"  
John saw the mood shift that crossed Dean's face.  
"I don't owe him an apology..he is what he is."  
"What you made him" John cut in swiftly.  
Dean sighed, and tried another tack.  
"John, what we had...have" he corrected swiftly "it's too good to lose."  
"That Luke...he's Paul's ex, isn't he."  
Dean blinked at the swift change of subject. He shifted awkwardly.  
"Maybe..." he hedged.  
"Did you know he was gonna be here?"  
"No, honestly, no I didn't. This is quite a popular bar..."  
"For your types..." John finished. Dean shifted again.  
"John" he laid his hand on John's arm beseechingly. John looked down at the well-tended hand, the manicured nails, and another hand took over the image....a hand with long, thin fingers and bitten-down nails....fingers that were fluent travelling across guitar strings. John blinked the image away, aware that Dean had been talking to him.  
"So...is that alright?"  
"Is what alright?"   
Dean pouted. It just made him look childish, not attractive.  
"You..me..are we good?"  
Inside John, something snapped. He suddenly stood up from his chair, snatching his jacket and scarf in one quick move.  
"D'you know what? I don't think we ever were..'good'....I think you'd be far better finding someone with similar connections."  
For a moment, Dean's face twisted in an ugly scowl, then it cleared...."John?"  
"Sorry, mate. Apologise to Paul, n' maybe i'll reconsider. See ya!"

John felt agitated, so many mixed emotions whirling through his mind on the journey home. It was with relief he reached the green-painted door, the smell of cooking greeting him. As he entered the little parlour, Paul immediately leapt to his feet, his face lighting up. Then he did a weird jiggle of his feet, his eyes skittering to all four corners of the room as he chewed nervously on his bottom lip while stuffing restless fingers into his pockets. John noted with amusement all these nervous little mannerisms. He grinned at Paul.  
"Hiya Paul"  
Paul's eyes focused on John, a smile returning.  
"Hiya"  
"Hi, Ritch...didn't by any chance save me some food did ya?"  
"What d'you think this is, Lennon, a bleedin' hotel? Yeah...sausage and mash in the kitchen " he flexed his thumb in that direction " just needs microwaving."  
Paul was on his feet again.  
"I can do that for y'"  
"Jesus, Paul, he'll have y' cleanin' his shoes next..."  
"No, it's okay, honest."  
John smiled in bemusement.  
"God, just let him, John...it'll find him summat to do for at least one minute" RitchIe quipped as Paul swiftly disappeared.   
Ritchie looked at John, picking up the odd mood.  
"Everything okay?"  
"I met Luke"  
"Oh?"  
"Yeah...went for a drink with Dean and..."  
"..thought that was all off?"  
"..it is, now. Anyway, Luke was there."  
"What's he like?"  
John thought of that tongue slipping in and out of his teeth.  
"A snake"  
A horrible thought occurred to John.  
"Ritch, you are on the same shift as Paul tomorrow aren't you?"  
John shrugged, uneasy.  
"I just think we ought not to leave Paul alone..at any time."

Meal over, Paul and John disappeared up to John's room. Carrying down the stairs were the sounds of the guitar, the odd snatch of song, and the sound of raucous laughter. Ritchie smiled to himself just listening. This was what he'd hoped for. Why then was there a nervous niggle in the pit of his stomach. As the clock reached eleven, he popped the kettle on for a bedtime drink, and called John and Paul down. They came clattering down sounding like a herd of cows. John was beaming and chuckling to himself, and Paul was flushed, his dark eyes sparkling.  
"Havin' fun?" Ritchie asked.  
John picked Ritchie up and waltzed him round the kitchen, almost knocking mugs off the side.  
"Delirious" he replied in a sing song voice. Paul giggled.  
"Right..put me down John. Don't have to remind you me n' Paul need to be gone no later than half seven tomorrow for work."  
John caught Ritchie's eye, and Ritchie nodded reassuringly.

Wednesday morning and the rain was bucketing down. Paul and Ritchie left the house huddled together, arms linked, sharing one umbrella. They dodged their way between hurrying commuters, trying to keep in the shelter of shop awnings and buildings wherever possible.  
"So what were you and John up to last night?"  
"We were practicing an old Everley Brothers song. Do you know Cathy's Clown?"  
"Fraid not, son,"  
"Oh, right...well, we were just having a go at singing the harmony.." Paul gave a quiet giggle at the remembrance.  
"It's good for John that he's got you to play with."  
They paused at a pelican crossing, the rain hammering on their umbrella.  
"D'you play anything?"  
Ritchie smiled wistfully.  
"Used to bang on the drums a bit when I was at school."  
They crossed to a bleeping sound, huddling closer together to stay dry.  
"I bet you were good at it."  
"Why d'you reckon that son?"  
"'Cos you're good at most things" Paul declared loyally. Ritchie looked at him in amusement.  
"What are you, me fan club?"  
He felt Paul's steps falter, and he glanced round. They'd drawn level with a black Mercedes...hang on, wasn't this the car they'd seen at least twice already during their walk to work? As they came alongside, the passenger window slid quietly open. Paul glanced in at the occupant. Ritchie saw his face pale, next moment he'd gone, feet flying, through the crowds.  
"Paul? Paul, come back" Ritchie shouted.  
The car window slid silently to, and the car moved off in the same direction as the fleeing figure.


	22. With a little help from my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George returns, getting to know you....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to continue splitting chapters to ensure posting, so go by the chapter title

Ritchie's instinct was to run after Paul. It's what anyone would have done. But he was hampered by the rain and his umbrella.....his umbrella in particular. Everyone on the busy high street seemed to be going in a different direction to him, and he barged into so many people with his umbrella that he lost time in apologising and having to gather his pace again. After what seemed his fifth collision with a very annoyed lady, he gave up, put his umbrella down and set off in pursuit again. He ran as fast as his short legs would take him, his thoughts in a panic, his lungs bursting. He could just about see the black Mercedes in the distance, but whereabouts Paul was he had no idea. He just hoped Paul would have had the sense to dodge down an alley or similar exit, but then again, on second thoughts, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. He could put himself in a more vulnerable position by so doing.  
A few seconds later, as Ritchie still ran, his eyes and nose streaming from the exertion, lights at a nearby junction went to green and the Mercedes slid out of sight. Ritchie paused, gasping for breath. As he stood still on the wet pavement, people passed him, making a tidal wave around his still figure, and closing again behind him. His thoughts were in turmoil, even if outwardly he looked calm, his thoughts tumbling in chaotic confusion as he tried to think his next move. John! Ring John! But then, what could John do? Paul and car were out of sight. Police! But then, what would he be explaining to them? Nothing had happened....at least, he hoped it hadn't. Shit! John had trusted him to look after Paul.  
He drew a breath that was half sob, half hiccup. It seemed all he could do was head to work and find a quiet corner to phone John. If they got their heads together maybe they could work something out. After all, this guy, even if he had managed to get Paul, he couldn't...wouldn't...hurt him, would he? Things like that were outside the law, and nothing in Ritchie's life had ever been outside the law, therefore he could not comprehend such actions  
Ritchie recalled the concern in John's eyes. How much had John sussed out? Ritchie wondered. After all, he'd not let slip anything about Paul's life that had been told to him in confidence by George. But John was very astute and had probably worked a certain amount out, particularly if it involved Dean. Maybe Dean knew? Ritchie's thoughts were still tumbling. He sighed and put his umbrella back up. All he could do now was get to work, let John know what had happened, and then explain to Trevor why Paul hadn't arrived. He shook his head. Now there was yet another problem. Paul needed that job. Ritchie squared his shoulders, and headed in the direction of the hospital. What a great start to his day.

Ritchie headed into the supervisors' cloakroom, steeling himself to do some explaining to Trevor, who was his own particular supervisor. To his astonishment and overwhelming relief he found Paul was already there, seated on Trevor's chair, a cup of hot tea being put into his hands by Trevor himself. They both looked up at Ritchie's entrance, Trevor looking bewildered, Paul as white as a sheet.  
"Ritchie? What the fuck's gone on? Paul's just barreled in here as if all the demons in hell were after him. I can't get any sense out of him. Are you okay?"  
With a sigh of relief, Ritchie stuck his wet umbrella up a corner and moved over to Paul, but he kept his eyes locked appealingly on Trevor's.  
"He'll be okay, just had a bit of a shock on the way here...a car.."  
"He was mutterin' something about a car..."  
"Yeah..a..car.. nearly, erm...." God Ritchie was no good at lying. He improvised quickly "....nearly got hit..in the rain, y'know...almost came up the kerb."   
Trevor couldn't help but notice that Paul looked taken aback at the explanation.He could sniff something fishy going on here. But he knew when not to push, apart from which he'd known Ritchie a long time and had no qualms about his character. Also he had a soft spot for this here Paul, so for now he decided to let it pass. He watched with eagle eyes as Ritchie bent down to talk to Paul.  
"Y'okay?"  
Paul just nodded, still white. His hands were shaking so much it was a wonder he'd not dropped the mug.  
"Maybe he ought to go home...seems a bit shaken up to me. Can't work like that " Trevor interjected.  
Ritchie and Paul looked up together.  
"No..." the words almost burst from Paul. He took a breath and started again. "No, I'm fine. I'd rather work."  
"Y'dont look fine to me, son. Don't want y' collapsing on my shift."  
Paul put the mug down, and stood up determindly "M'fine...honest..I'll be fine."  
Ritchie supported him verbally.  
"Let him work, Trevor. He'll be okay."  
Trevor took stock of the two of them, his eyes curious.  
"Okay then. But Paul..." Paul eyed him warily, wondering what was coming.."if you feel wobbly, just...stop, okay? Floors can be mopped anytime. Okay?"  
Paul nodded, grateful.  
"Okay, well, you go and get started then. I just need to run today's schedule over Ritchie."  
Once Paul had left the office, Trevor turned to a frowning Ritchie.  
"Run a schedule over me? When the fuck have you ever run a schedule over me?"  
"Excuse, son. Now " Trevor folded his arms across his chest. "What's going on?"  
Ritchie blinked stupidly. "On?" he queried.  
"Yeah..on...this lad..this Paul of yours that you've seen fit to take under your wing. I can't help if you don't tell me. And don't give me no shit about cars and kerbs...load of bunkum if ever there was."  
Ritchie sighed. "He saw someone in a car that he once knew..someone from about a year or so ago. Someone that wasn't very..nice..to him. That's the best I can do, Trevor. His story ain't mine to tell."  
"Hmm" Trevor hummed, eyeing Ritchie suspiciously. "Okay. I believe you. Thousands wouldn't. Is he in some kind of trouble?"  
"No" Ritchie shook his head vehemently. "No, he's not in any trouble. At least, not of his own making.."  
"Ah hah"  
"Not like that, Trevor, honestly. He's a good lad, he just..."  
"Just what?"  
"Just needs..supporting, really. A steady job..some decent friends. He'll be fine."  
"Where's his family?"  
Ritchie shrugged. "None to speak of."  
"My lad is about his age. I'd like to think he could come to us if he was in difficulty. Has he got anyone he can go to?"  
"Yeah" Ritchie was suddenly very aware of the surge of feeling in his chest. " Yeah. He has. He's got me."


	23. With a little help from my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George returns, John and Ritchie support Paul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation...please go by chapter titles...still not sure about posting issues...am away on a music bash in Manchester next week so highly unlikely to have time to write...will get back to it

Throughout that morning messages pinged back and forth between Ritchie and John. It didn't take a genius to see that John was worried...very worried. Who had been in the car Ritchie had no idea, and considering he was not supposed to know anything about Paul's background it made any questions he would have liked to ask the young man impossible. Throughout the morning he kept a close eye on Paul whenever he was in the same vicinity. Unbeknown to Ritchie, so was Trevor. Ritchie met Paul for lunch as usual, and it was straightaway obvious that he was still shaken from the morning's experience. He appeared distracted and replied only in monosyllables to any conversation Ritchie tried to initiate. The soup Ritchie placed in front of him sat cooling as he sat in the canteen, chin on hand, his dark eyes gazing into the distance.  
"Paul? Are you not eating? You need something"  
Paul started "Oh..er, yeah, right, okay....thanks Ritch"  
Paul picked up the spoon, put it in his soup, and immediately drifted off again. Ritchie watched him with thinly veiled concern.  
"Paul?"  
Paul pulled a wry face, and looked at Ritchie.  
"Sorry, I'm.." he shook his head, as if to clear it " I'm not quite with it. Rubbish company, aren't I?"  
It was a vain attempt to gloss over his attitude. Ritchie looked closely at him.  
"Paul? Who was in the car?"  
Paul shifted nervously, colour suffusing his face.  
"Oh, I thought..I thought I saw..I...I don't know..not.." his words trailed off. His eyes skittered to various corners of the room and he chewed his lip nervously. Ritchie was by now used to Paul's nervous traits, and his obvious avoidance of certain subjects.   
He leaned forward to gently enquire "It wasn't Luke, was it?" then immediately realised his error as Paul coloured even more. He was completely taken aback, and looked worriedly at Ritchie.  
"L..Luke..?" he stammered. Shit! Ritchie could have kicked himself. They stared open-mouthed at one another for a second before Paul collected himself.  
"Who told you?" he whispered to Ritchie.   
Ritchie heaved a sigh. No sense denying. "George..it was..just a bit after we met."  
Paul put his hands over his face and rubbed wearily.  
"He had no right to.." Paul's voice was wobbly. Ritchie put a hand on his shoulder.  
"Paul, George wouldn't want to hurt you, you know that. He only told me because..well, some kind of explanation was needed for everything that had gone on...don't blame him."  
Ritchie saw Paul try to pull himself together, his damaged pride an ineffectual shield.  
"I don't think any differently about you...."  
"How long have you known?" Paul cut in swiftly. Ritchie paused. He could sense Paul was quivering with supressed emotion. Answer carefully, Ritch, he warned himself.  
"Since a few nights after you got beaten up."  
Paul's eyes widened. "That long?"  
Ritchie nodded.  
"So..all this..me staying with you, and..and the guitar..and..the job..You just felt sorry for me?""  
"No! No I didn't 'feel sorry for you' as you put it. That is not why..."  
"Then why? What do you have to gain?" Paul was genuinely upset, Ritchie could see that in the suspicious glimmer of his eyes.  
"Gain? Why should I want to gain something, Paul? Can you not understand that I happen to like you and George and want to help? Can you not understand that I've grown to really like you...you, for what you are, as you are. Not because of anything that's gone before" Ritchie suddenly realised his voice had become louder and eyes were turning towards them both. He lowered his voice. "Sorry..nothing was done out of pity, if that's what your'e suggesting."  
Paul considered his last words thoughtfully, then suddenly smiled. He laid his fingers on Ritchie's arm.  
"Thanks..it was just..a shock, that's all. And since you asked..it was Luke I saw in the car"  
Ritchie looked up in alarm.   
"Luke?"  
Paul just nodded.  
"Shit. Right..now look, your'e not leaving here tonight without me. Did he see you come in here?"  
Paul shook his head. Ritchie's mind was working overtime.   
"Okay. Now listen...John is coming to meet us..."  
"John?! Oh god, no...he doesn't know too, does he?" Paul's distress was written all over his face, and Ritchie became aware that John's opinion of Paul meant a lot to him.  
"Ssh..no. I don't think so, Paul." Dean flashed into Ritchie's head, but he had no idea what the connection was there...only a niggling feeling that there might be one. Things were becoming complicated. "I messaged John and..well..." Ritchie struggled to get round this without giving too much away "he said he's meeting us from work and walking back with us, just to make sure we're okay."  
"You're sure he doesn't know?"  
"I don't think so Paul"  
He could feel Paul's dark eyes scanning his face as if searching out the truth. Finally Paul relaxed, slumping back into his chair. Ritchie indicated the now almost cold soup.  
"Better eat up, son, we're back on shift in a few minutes."

The rain had finally stopped when they left the hospital just after five. Trevor popped his head out of his office to check everything was okay, and glanced suspiciously at Paul.  
"Alright there? Get through the day okay did you?"  
Paul just smiled and nodded, looking much more like his usual self.  
"Good...try and avoid kerb mounting cars tomorrow, eh?"  
"We will" Ritchie waved. "See you tomorrow,"  
Outside, John was waiting, gazing up at the building, looking solid and dependable. He suddenly spotted them both, and waved. Ritchie felt so relieved seeing him. Beside him he felt Paul give a little shift...was it excitement?..and glancing at him he could see his eyes were fixated on John.  
"Hiya you two...I'm here to prevent any kerb crawlers...can I assist you both?"  
Ritchie heard Paul's suppressed giggle at John's humour.  
"Well we two ladies need a strong man" Ritchie simpered.   
John positioned himself in the middle of them both and threaded their arms through his, one each side.  
"Okay, ladies, home it is."


	24. With a little help from my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Away in Manchester all week so highly unlikely to have writing time

They chatted amicably on their walk home, and no reference was made to that morning's incident, other than John's original joke about kerb crawlers. Paul simply kept a bright smile plastered on his face, whether to avoid anyone enquiring into his feelings, or because of his delight at having John as company, was anyone's guess. John really wanted to talk to Ritchie about what had happened, but chance was a fine thing. It could be that Paul was being deliberately obstructive, or it could have been an accident, but he seemed to be glued to one or other of them all the time. They exchanged a few frustrated glances over the top of Paul's dark head, but their hands were tied. And one thing was for sure...Paul was not going to raise the subject.  
After the evening meal, Paul dragged John upstairs to practice, using the excuse that it was the last time they would have the opportunity as George was returning home the next day. John gave a shrug.  
"What d'you mean, last time? We can still meet up?"  
"Meet up?"  
"Yeah...meet up..as in I can still see you, can't I?"  
"You'd meet up with me?"  
John gave an amused smile at Paul's astonishment.  
"Yeah. Why wouldn't I? After all, your'e teaching me."  
Paul's smile dropped a little.  
"George isn't too keen on me going out on my own at night."  
No, thought John, I'm not bloody surprised. To Paul, though, he replied "S'not a problem. I'll come round to you."  
Paul's face lit up again. "You'd do that?"  
Jesus. This kid has no idea of his worth. "Course I would, y'silly bugger. Your'e not that far away. Walk it round in less than half hour."  
Paul digested this information as if it was a gift he'd just been given. He smiled at John broadly.  
"That's good..."he nodded.." that's really good."  
"Okay...so...shall we get on?"  
They were perched together on the edge of John's bed, their knees almost touching.  
"So..Bm7..it goes like this.." Paul's head was bent over the guitar, placing his fingers slowly so that John could follow, the tip of a pink tongue stuck out between his teeth as he concentrated on demonstrating the whole chord upside down for John's benefit. Well..upside down for Paul as a leftie, right way up for John.   
John tried to concentrate..he really did, but he was conscious of so many things. He was so close to Paul that he could smell him. It was a mixture of coconut and a slight musky smell that was purely Paul. His eyes watched the long thin fingers place each note carefully and with precision. The table lamp caught the shadow of long lashes that threw shadows across cheeks and picked out warm lights in the thick dark hair.  
"John?"  
John jumped. Shit, he'd been miles away. He looked at Paul, and their eyes met. He saw a question in Paul's dark eyes, and something else. John moved nearer and nearer. Paul never broke eye contact. Slowly, oh so slowly, John leaned in and gave Paul a gentle kiss on his lips. Paul didn't back away...in fact, to John's surprise, he responded. John cupped his hands round the back of Paul's neck and pulled him in closer as he deepened the kiss. The guitar slid silently out of Paul's fingers, slithering onto the rug. Next moment Paul's hands were round John's waist. Their kiss lasted but a couple of minutes, yet to John it could have been forever. Paul moved when he moved, breathed when he breathed. It was as if they were one person. John broke the kiss when he needed to take a deep breath , and pulled back to look at Paul without removing his hands from around Paul's neck. Paul was flushed, his eyes very dark. John tried to read into them, but before he could it was now Paul who moved forward, capturing John's lips. He could feel his trousers getting tighter. He hadn't meant to do this. He didn't want to start something he couldn't see through. And he definitely didn't want to start something with Paul. Not because he didn't find him attractive..God knows he did...but because he felt Paul had been through enough lately and his own emotions were likely to be in turmoil. Starting any relationship with Paul could, John felt, be like opening a can of worms. John broke the kiss, and let go of Paul. He shifted backwards on the bed, not meeting Paul's eyes.  
"I'm sorry.." he blurted out.."sorry...dunno what came over me."  
From the corner of his eye he saw Paul colour in embarrassment, then next moment a shield came down. Suddenly Paul was calm and in control...but cold.  
"It's okay" Paul's voice was detached, as if this was something he dealt with all the time.."..You don't have to explain."   
Paul bent over to retrieve the guitar, and placing it back on his lap angled himself slightly away from John so that John couldn't see his face.  
"So..." Paul picked up where they'd left off as if nothing had ever happened " Bm7..it can be a bit tricky.." John noted a slight catch in Paul's voice, but Paul swallowed and went on " you just have to be careful.."  
The rest of Paul's words went over John's head. He felt an absolute cad. How could he explain to Paul that what he was doing he felt he was doing for the best. George will be back tomorrow. Paul will be gone. Temptation out of the way. What was it about this kid that dragged people in? Ritchie had certainly got pulled in. Paul was attracted to him....any fool could see that. But if he took Paul on, what would he be getting into? There were a lot of issues...Dean had hinted at some. Ritchie hadn't told him, Paul probably never would, and George? I've never even met the bloke, John thought....  
"Your'e not listening to me, are you?" Paul's voice was gently admonishing, but it was tinged with sadness. John could have kicked himself for his earlier behaviour.  
"D'you know what, Paul? I'm tired. Think I need to turn in. And you'll need to pack to go back home tomorrow as well. I assume your'e taking it all to work with you?"  
Paul gave an audible swallow. It was as if he'd been slapped across the face. He took a second to regain his composure, then stood up straight, putting John's guitar down.  
"Your'e right" he agreed in a voice devoid of emotion " I'll get ready for bed now. Goodnight John"   
He left the room without glancing at John, and closed the bedroom door quietly behind him.  
"Goodnight Paul" John whispered to himself.

When Paul left the hospital the next evening with his rucksack and guitar, Ritchie cautiously behind him, wary in case there were any more would be Paul knappers trawling the street, it was to see George waiting. The emotion of the previous night welled up in Paul...he was so relieved to see George he deposited everything in the doorway of the building and fled into George's waiting arms. George was astonished to find Paul in tears on his shoulder, refusing to let go or look up. George patted the young man's back awkwardly and cast a questioning glance at Ritchie. Ritchie shrugged and shook his head. But he'd noticed. He'd noticed the distance between John and Paul this morning. Something had obviously happened between them. Whatever it was, he just prayed they'd sort it.  
"Paul?" George queried.  
Paul finally looked up at the much loved face of his friend. Tears were still streaming down his face as he held on to George.  
"I'm just glad your'e back. I missed you"


	25. Somedays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to sort it all out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm in Manchester and this is niggling round in my head. Here's half a chapter...

George was worried. To put it more accurately, George was extremely worried. To hear from Ritchie... Ritchie, mind, not Paul, ...that Luke had an idea of Paul's whereabouts. Now that was bloody terrifying. Okay, so Luke thought Paul was based at Ritchie's...that was something. But then again, Ritchie didn't live that far away...less than thirty minutes walk. What was more disturbing was the fact Luke had obviously sought Paul out, knew he was in this vicinity. George really wanted to change the locks, barricade them in, not let Paul out, and alert the police. Yet he couldn't do any of that. It would make him look stupid. The only one he felt he could share his fears with was Ritchie. John he didn't know, although he sounded as if he might be useful on their side. Everything that had happened he found out from Ritchie, because Paul wasn't talking.  
And what was it with Paul? Paul had clung to him like a dying man on Thursday, then had suddenly switched. Aloof. That was the word George was looking for. Aloof. Not talking, other than necessary communication. Paul hadn't even asked George how he'd got on with his cookery course. George had really wanted to share that information with him...he'd had an awesome time and wanted to tell Paul all about it. He'd envisaged them sharing their news over a mug of tea, and...yes...he'd been looking forward to seeing Paul again. He'd missed him and had thought about him while away. He knew from Ritchie's texts that, apart from a couple of hiccups, he'd been fine. Now he suddenly had a tall dark stranger in his flat, and he didn't want that.  
George had already told Ritchie that, like it or not, he was going to walk Paul to work and Ritchie was going to walk him home. It meant a bit more begging on Ritchie's part for Trevor to put them both on the same shift so that it would work, but Ritchie knew Trevor would. He had a soft spot for both of them.

Sunday was the first day off for both of them, and George could no longer stand it. He'd always held the 'give Paul a lot of space' philosophy, but he really needed to know what was troubling him. The problem with Paul was the more you pushed, the more he put up barriers. He tried to dance around a few subjects, seeking an inroad.  
"So...what did you do in an evening at Ritchie's then?"  
Paul blinked..drew breath.."Oh, watched a D.V.D." Paul looked back down at the book he was reading. Except he wasn't. George knew that because it was upside down. George reached across, took the book from Paul's hands, turned it round and placed it back in his grasp. Startled, Paul looked at him. George's gaze was intense.  
"What's the matter Paul?"  
Paul shifted nervously, dropping his glance. He shrugged.  
"Nothing. Nothing's the matter."  
"Is it to do with Luke?"  
George saw a slight frown cross Paul's features before he shook his head. Yeah, George could believe that. Luke had obviously not been in Paul's thoughts. It was something...or someone ....else then.  
"And is watch D.V.D. all you did? I thought you took your guitar to play?"  
Paul hummed. "I did...and I did..play it, that is."  
"Who to? To Ritchie?"  
Paul just hummed again and wriggled a bit further down into the settee.  
"What about Ritchie's housemate...John, isn't it?" George saw Paul suddenly colour up. Ah ha. Had he just found the problem?  
"Did you play for him? Does he play?"  
Paul kept his head bent and muttered an unintelligible reply.  
"Pardon?"  
Paul sighed exasperatedly. "Yeah..he plays and we did play. Now can I read me book?"  
George grinned in amusement at Paul's annoyance.  
"Well...if I thought you had a valid interest in gardening, yes....but since we don't have a garden, Paul, and you've never once shown any interest..."  
Paul huffed, and slung the book down, never having got past the first three pages which discussed different soil types. He folded his arms across his chest, and made his face a blank mask. George's lips quirked ... it was good to see Paul respond, even if it was a sulk.  
"So...is he any good?"  
"Who?" God Paul wasn't going to make this easy.  
"John"  
Paul shrugged. "He's okay.." a flash came back to Paul of them trying to play and harmonies to Cathy's Clown.  
"As good as you?"  
"I'm not that good, George."  
"Come on Paul.... your'e bloody brillliant and you know it."  
Paul squirmed, unaccepting of praise.  
"Did he upset you?"  
"Who?"  
"Paul!!!!"  
Paul sighed. "No one's upset me. I'm fine. I'm okay."  
"But your'e not, are you. What's he like?"  
"Who?"  
"Oh for Christsake Paul. What is John like? Ritchie talks about him but I've never met him. Explain him?"  
These were uncomfortable memories for Paul. He liked John...as in really liked him. He didn't know why, but the attraction was there. And he'd been fairly sure that John liked him. They'd shared some fun times....and that kiss.... Paul's face flooded with colour.  
"He's a prick" he stated, and launched himself up from the settee, leaving George gaping.


	26. Somedays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to sort out feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of last night's

Ritchie was worried. Ever since Paul had gone John had done nothing but mope around. If Ritchie tried talking, he'd grunt in reply. He'd sit down, stand up again, fiddle with his house keys, make a drink, forget to drink it, let his meal go cold... it was an endless list, and this just wasn't John. He kept disappearing to his room, and Ritchie could hear disjointed bursts of music, chords played on the guitar...it was like John couldn't settle to anything. He didn't go out....didn't seem to want to go out. Was lukewarm when Ritchie suggested a take away and a film night together, although he went along with it because he had nothing better to do, but when Ritchie glanced over at him he saw that John's eyes were not watching the screen.  
Ritchie texted George. "How's Paul doing?"  
The reply came back "Dunno he's not talking"  
"Is he okay?"  
"You asking?"  
"Wondered. John's a miserable shit at the moment."  
"Ha! Swap you for another one then. Ta for walking Paul home by the way. No more kerb crawlers?"  
"None that I've seen. Is this Luke likely to give up that easily?"  
"Don't know the guy but I'd reckon he's the possessive type. I'm def not letting Paul out on his own."  
"What y gonna do? Ball and chain?"  
"Ha ha very funny. Gotta go cooking us a meal. See y Monday night."  
Ritchie flipped his mobile off and slid it into his pocket. John was sitting staring into space. Ritchie sighed, and pointed the remote at the telly, halting the film half way through.  
The sudden silence roused John.  
"Hey, Ritchie...s'not finished...I was watching that!"  
"Bullshit" Ritchie snorted. "You've sat here staring into space. What the hell's up with y'?"  
John shifted awkwardly. His gaze wandered across the ceiling, down the walls, across the floor, and finally came to rest on Ritchie's face with it's big, open blue eyes. John saw nothing but love and understanding there. He let out a heartfelt sigh.  
"I think I've fucked up."  
Well, that was a start at least. Ritchie clasped his hands together and leaned closer.  
"How John? In what way?"  
John didn't look at him as he breathed "Paul."  
Nothing else was said, so Ritchie pushed a bit more "You think you've fucked up with Paul?"  
John still wouldn't meet his eyes. Just gave a slight nod and grunted "Uh huh"  
Ritchie wasn't going to mention the distance he'd felt between the two of them on Thursday morning. He feigned innocence and said "How?"  
For the first time John looked at Ritchie. He could see the anguish in his amber eyes.  
"I made a move on him"  
Oh..now that was unexpected! Ritchie tried to play it off.  
"Well..he's an attractive lad...if you bat that way, that is" he joked. John didn't smile.  
"I shouldn't have done it Ritch." Ritchie doused his smile. This was serious.  
"How did he react?"  
John thought again of that kiss...it had all felt so right. And when Paul had moved in and...  
"I don't know if I can handle it."  
"Handle what?"  
"Paul. A relationship. After Andrew..." Oh yes thought Ritchie, Andrew.  
"But you've been going out with Dean for..what?...nearly three months."  
"That's off."  
"But you handled that."  
"'That' wasn't serious...not to me anyway. It was just a lark...a bit of posh totty for a change. Dip me feet in a different pool, as it were."  
Ritchie digested this piece of information with a mixture of surprise and relief.  
"And Paul?" he queried.  
John shifted awkwardly, and heaved a sigh.  
"I could really go for him" he admitted.  
"Well why don't you then?" asked Ritchie, his heart giving a little jump for joy at John's admittance.  
"Because I don't know if I could handle it. He's got issues...Christ, I've got issues, but at least I know what mine are."  
"And what are they?" Ritchie enquired softly. John looked closely at him.  
"Abandonment" he said. "Every one I love fucking runs off and abandons me."  
"I haven't" Ritchie whispered. John looked lovingly at him.  
"No..I know...dunno where I'd be without you mate."  
"And Paul might not..."  
"Yeah...but I don't know that, do I? Fuck, I don't even know what's gone on in his life, othere than it's some serious shit. Your'e not saying, but I know it ain't good."  
"No, it isn't good" Ritchie said "but it's not particularly Paul's fault..he deserves a chance of happiness too"  
John took this advice quietly, then stared at Ritchie.  
"What's his problem.?"  
"Paul?"  
"Yeah...why, who else are we talking about?"  
This time it was Ritchie who dropped his gaze, wondering how he could skirt the issue.  
"Was it drugs?" John guessed. "Was he a junkie?"  
Ritchie's head jerked up. "No..No way..definitely not. Why, does he look like one?"  
"No. No, he doesn't, but summat's not right. Dean hinted..." John trailed off. Then he looked at Ritchie accusingly. "You know, don't you? How d'you know?"  
Ritchie sighed. "George told me...in confidence. And not everything. Shit, I don't think even George knows everything."  
"Y'see, that's me problem. I don't know what I'm dealing with. And I don't know if I can be strong enough for him...as well as me."  
"Well" Ritchie smiled broadly at John " there's only one way to find out, son."


	27. If I fell.....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...this happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get my head round continuing this story...just need to shove some music outta my brain first

John felt as nervous as a girl on her first date...well, how he thought a girl might feel on her first date. It was Monday night and he was standing outside the front door to George's flat trying to pluck up the courage to knock. Time?...he glanced at his watch...just after half seven. George would be at work...still not met this powerful guardian yet!...and, hopefully, Paul would be on his own inside. He gripped the handle of his guitar case harder and steeled himself. Come on, Lennon, where's this famous courage...all you gotta do is knock. He drew a deep breath, took a glance round the rather tatty neighbourhood, looked again at the door in front of him as if it would provide life's answers, drew another deep breath, and knocked. Silence. John shuffled his feet. He'd expected many things, but not that. Right address? Yeah. Light shone behind the door. Someone should be there. He knocked again, louder. Still silence. Shit! It's not as if Paul would have known he was coming and was avoiding him...hang on, just a moment. Would Paul even answer the door if he was on his own? He'd probably been instructed, like a child unwillingly left by a parent, not to answer the door AT ALL...capital letters in John's mind. Luke could be around. Luke could search out the address. John had to try and put himself in George's position. He knocked again, this time not so loud, but also called Paul's name. He cocked his head, listening. Definitely movement inside. He knocked and called at the same time.  
"Paul? Paul, it's me, John...come on, I know you're in..."  
The blinds shifted in the window of the next door flat. An eye looked at him. John pulled his famous leery grin, and the blind dropped into place quickly. He tried again...  
"Paul? Paul, I know you're there...just answer the fucking...."  
the door opened suddenly  
"...door...." John finished softly, finding himself face to face with Paul. Right...what to say. Paul was eyeing him with a cold expression...oh...right..erm..  
"I'm not here to sell you tupperware or religious literature or seek your political opinion" John joked. Paul didn't stir.  
"What do you want John?" he asked icily.   
John gripped the handle of his guitar case even harder, and tried a smile.  
"Just wanted to come and play" he nodded at the guitar in his hand. He saw Paul shift slightly. Music..always the pull...try a bit harder..."M'sorry..the other night.." Paul folded his arms, waiting. John saw the blind next door twitch again. "Please, Paul...can I come in? I'm fed up of entertaining your neighbours."  
Paul seemed to consider for a moment, then stepped back to admit John into the tiny flat. As with Ritchie months before, John found his senses assaulted by a flood of colour and spicy smells. Paul had only moved back enough to let John a couple of paces in. He still had his arms folded and his face was still set. John smiled. No smile was returned. Paul's eyes were glued on his, waiting.   
John put his guitar case down.   
"I guess...you want an explanation?"  
Paul lifted an eyebrow. John jiggled his feet, uncomfortable.  
"An apology?"  
"What for?" Paul enquired. Christ, the bastard wasn't going to make it easy, was he? Then again, thought John, why should he? He had every right to feel hurt. While John searched for the right words, he realised Paul was already speaking.  
"If it's for your actions the other night, you already apologised." Paul shrugged dismissively. "Like you said..s'not important. It's just something that happened. Now you're here, d'you wanna drink?"  
Oh..right. Drink. John felt as if the rug had been pulled from under his feet, but he was dissatisfied. He hadn't had chance to say what he wanted to say. To explain..  
"Tea? Coffee?" Paul asked.   
"Er..I'll have whatever you're having."  
As Paul moved into the cramped gallery kitchen, filling the kettle with water, finding mugs, searching in the cupboards for tea bags, John observed him. His movements were swift, graceful, but John couldn't see his face. Just Paul's back, upright, narrow shoulder blades showing through the black t-shirt. He was filling the mugs with boiling water. John's eyes travelled down Paul's body, admiring the long slim legs encased in tight denim jeans. Very attractive. He glanced up to find Paul watching him...Paul shifted, uncomfortable, but nonetheless came back at John sarcastically.  
"Like what you see?"  
John coloured. Paul had obviously been aware...shit, John could have kicked himself. This was not the way he wanted it to go. He didn't want Paul to think he was only interested in him sexually. John swallowed, unable to find a witty reply. Oh the great John Lennon wrong-footed by some little pip-squeak. Come on, dig yourself out.  
John wetted his lips, and moved forward "Paul, I..."  
Next second, the cat appeared from nowhere and made a beeline for John. Entranced, John forgot completely what he was going to say, and squatted down, fussing the purring animal.  
"You've got a cat" he stated unnecessarily. He didn't see Paul's lips twitch in an amused smile at the behaviour.  
"Yeah...that's Gandhi"  
"Gandhi?" John looked up in astonishment. "What kind of name is that for a cat?"  
Paul couldn't help but chuckle. "George named him."  
John was so relieved to see Paul smile. "I would never have guessed. Can I pick him up?"  
"Sure...though you'll end up with him round your neck all night. Put your tea on the coffee table, shall I, then?"  
Talking nonsense words to the cat cradled in his arms, John moved into the flat, plonking down on the settee. Paul followed him, placing the mugs down on the table.  
"Had him long?"  
Paul shrugged. "Dunno. He belongs to George. Think George had him when he moved here." Paul took a sip of his tea, and frowned slightly. How come everything in this flat had a peculiar flavour to it?  
"Er...is your tea okay? I can make another one if.."  
He watched as John sipped it. John blinked at the unusual flavour, but decided to ignore it.  
"No, fine. It's fine."  
Paul hummed, unsure.  
Feeling more confident with the cat in his arms, John decided to try again.  
"Paul, the other night.."  
He saw Paul close up. Shit.   
"Please, let me explain.."  
"You already have. You said it was a mistake." Paul shrugged "Fine. We all make mistakes..."  
"I didn't mean it like that."  
Paul glanced away from John, blinking rapidly. He didn't want the insult again.  
Gandhi purred, curling himself round, settling into a warm humming ball of fur. John absent-mindedly stroked him. He wished it was as easy to reach out and stroke Paul.  
"Paul, please..."  
Paul's body had instinctively curved away from John, protecting himself from whatever was about to be thrown his way. John reached out, pulling him round to face him. He could see the hurt in Paul's face.  
"Paul, I...."  
Next moment, Paul had hit him across the face. It was so sudden, so stinging.   
"Fuck" John exclaimed in shock, and the cat leapt off his lap in fright, disappearing into George's bedroom. Wide-eyed, and holding his fast reddening cheek, John looked at Paul in astonishment. Paul's face mirrored his astonishment, as if Paul couldn't believe what he'd just done.   
John drew a breath, and began to chuckle. Paul eyed him in concern.  
"I expect I deserved that..."he snorted between his laughter. Paul had frozen, unsure. John looked at him.  
"D'you feel better now? Having got that out your system, like?"  
Paul's eyes were still serious, scanning the handprint across John's cheek. It was so unlike him to do anything like that. He put his hand over his mouth in horror.  
John shook his head. "S'okay, Paul. I'm not mad at y'. I guess that makes it even. Can we start again? The whole caboodle?"  
John reached out to Paul, pulling the stiff body into his arms. He rubbed his hands up and down Paul's arms, trying to break him out of the shock he was obviously in.  
John's hands travelled up, up to Paul's shoulders, up to his face. He could feel the wide hazel eyes glued on his. He smiled, and traced his thumbs over Paul's forehead, his cheeks, pausing at his mouth. That mouth. Ignoring the cat's attempts to find a lap again, John leaned in, his lips connecting with Paul's. He was careful, gentle, trying to tell Paul through his movements that he knew what he was doing and he wanted to do this. He slipped his arms down around Paul's shoulders, pulling him closer in. His arm travelled round Paul's back, running up and down his backbone, drawing him ever closer. John deepened the kiss, seeking entrance with his tongue, and after a brief hesitation Paul responded. John felt Paul suddenly melt into his arms, and he experienced the pliancy of the young body he held. A fire greater than any John had ever known burned within him, and he was fairly sure that Paul was experiencing the same. Someone moaned...was it him? Was it Paul? He couldn't get enough. He pulled Paul closer and closer as if trying to get the two bodies to meld into one. He was aware of Paul shifting, wriggling, trying to say something..."bedroom..." bedroom...now that sounded like a good idea. God! Bedroom? Lucky if one person could stand up in here...but who wanted to stand anyway? He'd wanted his first time..the real first time...with Paul to be slow, thoughtful, an apology for everything that had gone before, but they couldn't hold back. They couldn't get close to one another quickly enough, clothes coming off in a tangle of arms, legs, hair, glasses....then John had Paul beneath him, all long legs and beautiful body, flushed face and dark eyes, and Paul had John above him, all strong legs and muscled body, flushed face and dark eyes, and they sought one another swiftly as if there was no yesterday, no tomorrow, only now. They rode their orgasms out together, wave after wave, watching one another.   
Then John held Paul within his arms, circling him, protecting. Whatever had gone on before in his life, this was all that now mattered.


	28. Getting to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovering each other

As George put his key in the lock, he noticed the light was still on...so Paul must still be up, he assumed. Some second sense made him open the door quietly, peering round as he did so. The cat began circling near to his bowl in the kitchen, hopeful of food. George's eyes narrowed..where was Paul? Had he fallen asleep? He closed the door quietly behind him, bent down to fuss Gandhi, and noticed the guitar, still in it's case. Rubbing Gandhi's neck, his eyes traced the contour of the tiny flat, and he noticed a discarded shirt on the floor, then another item of clothing leading a trail to Paul's room, where the door was ajar. Odd! George cautiously headed in that direction, automatically holding his breath as if that would make his actions even quieter. A pair of pants...not Paul's..taking a deep breath, he peered into the darkened room. On the small camp bed, a tangle of arms and legs, was Paul and some other guy. Despite the cramped conditions they looked completely relaxed. Whoever this was, Paul was buried between his legs with his head on his chest, and the guy was holding onto Paul to prevent him slipping. George drew back, unsure what to do. It was getting late..nearly eleven...and Paul would need to be up for work. Shushing the cat, who'd started to miaow, George quietly gathered up the strewn clothes, placed them just inside Paul's room, and, holding his breath, very carefully closed the door. Then, steeling his face to look normal, he knocked briskly on the door.  
"Paul? Hi Paul y' still awake? Want a drink?"  
From behind the closed door he heard a muffled "fuck!" and movement...someone giggled..Paul?..and there was suddenly a lot of shifting going on. Next moment, Paul appeared in the doorway wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that was inside out and back to front...not that George was going to refer to the fact...black hair stuck in all directions and a beatific smile on his face.  
"Oh, hi, George."  
George's smile was as big as Paul's at the state of his friend.  
"Wanna drink?"  
There was movement behind Paul, and George could just see a leg emerging.   
Paul flushed.."Er..yeah, that would be good. Erm..tea? Two teas?"  
George gave him a knowing nod, and headed off to the kitchen. He could hear a lot of whispering going on. He fed Gandhi while he waited for the kettle to boil, one ear on the conversation, of which he couldn't catch a word. Then suddenly someone cleared their throat right by him, making him jump, and he turned to see an auburn haired guy, fully clothed, if rather deshevilled, hand stuck in his direction.  
"Hiya..I'm John. I know you're George. Good to meet y' at last."  
George put the kettle down and met John's hand, conscious of Paul warily watching the interaction.   
"George, yeah. Good to meet you too, mate. Ritchie's spoken a lot about you."  
Greeting over, George saw Paul visibly relax.

After John had left, George looked at Paul who, still in boxers and inside out back to front t-shirt, was sitting cross-legged on the settee, his eyes miles away.  
"Paul? Don't you think you ought to get to bed? You need to be up for work in the morning."  
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, in a minute." Paul absent mindedly stroked Gandhi.  
George grinned. "I thought you said he was a prick?"  
Paul's eyes opened very wide as he looked at George.  
"What?" he queried.  
George indicated the front door that John had not long exited through.  
"John. You said he was a prick."  
Paul glanced down at the cat.  
"Hm..yeah. I did. But he's a nice one..."

***********************************

Over the next few weeks, Ritchie and George watched in amusement and contentment the development of the relationship between John and Paul. They entertained one another with text messages on what was going on, and debated the next step, placing bets on who would do what. John and Paul were oblivious to their friends machinations. They were too tied up in one another to notice what was going on around them.   
After the first few hesitant meetings, where John was trying to tread cautiously so as not to frighten Paul away, they fell naturally into their own routine. Each night they would be at one or another's homes, sharing the mealtimes, watching films, making music. John occasionally suggested going out, but Paul really didn't seem bothered, preferring instead to spend time with their guitars, honing his art. He was a remarkably easy to please partner. John began to wonder what he'd ever seen in Andrew or Dean or any of the other guys he'd ever been with. For him, Paul was so far above any of them. And Paul seemed content. George, in particular, picked this fact up very quickly.   
He was glad for Paul, but always at the back of George's mind was the awareness of the life Paul had been forced to lead and the fact that Luke was obviously still around...somewhere. It was an unspoken agreement between all three that Paul never went anywhere on his own...not to work, not even to the local shop. If Paul was aware of this arrangement he showed no sign.   
John shared his news with Paul, his day to day happenings, and bit by bit Paul discovered the story of John's life. He was a good listener, John would give him that. Sitting, tucked under John's arm, he'd listen to the memories of a childhood spent with a strict but loving aunt, and of John's devestation when he'd lost that relationship because of the lifestyle that came naturally to him, and his aunt's unacceptance of his homosexuality. He spoke briefly of his parents, their lack of interest in him, and Paul, absorbing all of this, understood instinctively why John acted as he did.  
Paul did not share his life story with John though. In a way, this did not surprise John. He'd picked up enough from the insinuations made by Dean to know it was not a pretty one. He hoped one day Paul might open up to him, but that had not yet happened. Frustratingly for John, he was aware of the fact that Ritchie knew more about his boyfriend than he did, but he tried hard not to let it get to him. When he was alone with Ritchie, he often tried to bring up the subject of Paul, but something always held him back. One thing he had to learn and that was just accept Paul as he is...whatever had gone on before should have no bearing on their relationship now.

In Paul he found a loving and passionate partner. Sex between them was amazing. John had never felt so fulfilled...only one thing puzzled him. When they 'made love' in quotes...Paul would never refer to it as just sex...Paul would automatically take the sub role. John was quite happy being the one on top, but after a few weeks it did occur to him that maybe they should swap round..after all, it was an equal relationship. He didn't expect Paul to always be the one underneath. So on this particular night, as they snuggled together on John's bed...which did offer more room than Paul's tiny camp bed...John snaked his arms around Paul's waist and rolled them over, so that Paul was lying on top of him. John immediately felt Paul hesitate, and break away from the kiss they'd been sharing. He raised himself up from John and looked down at his partner with a furrowed brow, confusion in his dark eyes. John held the naked body tightly, giving encouragement.  
"Thought you might like to be dom tonight" John whispered.   
Paul's brow furrowed even deeper, and he coloured. "Uh huh...I'm okay..I prefer to be under..."  
John could feel the hesitancy in the young body he held. Something not right here.  
"Why's that? Doncha fancy me?" John tried to make a joke without losing the arousal they already had. He felt Paul go limp against him. Shit! Paul struggled away, trying to sit up, but John pulled him back down, nuzzling his ear gently.  
"What's the matter Paulie?" he whispered into his ear, rifling his nose among the black hair that grew there. "You can tell me. Come on love. I want us to be equal..I'm not your master....I want you to fuck me...will you?"  
Paul curled up inside himself, and John teasingly slipped his hand between Paul's legs, touching him.   
"Come on baby, you can do this.."  
"I can't..no, I can't.." it burst out of Paul like a strangled sob. Astonished, John stopped what he was doing, and sat up, while still holding onto Paul. Their eyes met. Paul had gone bright red, and he squirmed uncomfortably. John ran his hand up Paul's arm.  
"What's the matter?"  
Paul shook his head, near tears. He's gone completely limp.  
"Come on love, you can tell me. No secrets, eh?"  
"I've never..I haven't..I..I don't know how to.."  
John heard this disjointed sentence in confusion.   
"You've never?...."  
Chewing his lip as if his life depended on it, Paul shook his head. John smiled comfortingly.  
"Paul...it's easy. You do to me what I do to you. Simple as that."  
"But..I don't know how to, and suppose I'm rubbish?"  
John had to smile at his concern.   
He whispered into Paul's ear "Well, if you're rubbish, we'll just have to practice more often."  
He pulled Paul close to him, peppering tiny kisses along his neck, and all the places he knew Paul was sensitive. As Paul hardened again, he slipped a tin of vasline into Paul's hand.  
"Just prepare me...lots of it on your fingers and go one finger at a time."  
Concentrating hard, and still chewing his lip, Paul inserted his index finger. John groaned, and Paul pulled out swiftly.  
"Sorry..I've hurt.."  
"No..no, you haven't. Just take it slow."  
John steeled himself. This wasn't going to be easy. He was trying to instruct Paul and keep Paul aroused enough that he would be able to complete the act. Paul tried again, and John refused to let any discomfort show.  
"That's it, Paul, that's good. Now move around a bit..yeah..that's it. Now add another finger..."  
Shit, John thought, Paul was concentrating so much he was going limp. John ran his fingers up and down Paul's shaft and heard him moan. Good.  
"Now move your fingers round a bit..curl 'em up, y'know..ah..that's it..good lad. Y'doing fine..okay..okay, now I'm ready..that'll be fine."  
"Sure?"  
John didn't want to waste time. This wasn't going to be fantastic, but he just needed to get Paul over this milestone.  
"M'sure,now, go on...put me legs over your shoulders..it'll help..that's it..go on.."  
Gingerly, Paul entered John, his eyes watching John's face all the time. Anxious, lest he go wrong. He couldn't believe how amazing this felt. John's insides involuntarily gripped him, producing a lot of friction. Paul began to sweat...he wasn't gonna last long. He'd only moved a few times and..  
"John...John..I can't..I'm gonna.." that was it. Paul's orgasm hit like a tidal wave, and John held him tight.   
Paul collapsed onto John's chest.  
"I'm sorry..I couldn't.."he was gasping. John stroked the sweaty black locks tenderly.  
"It's okay..it's okay, Paul..it's normal, first time. You were great." Fuck. He was still hard, not even anywhere near....suddenly, Paul's hand slid down, and took over the job John had been about to do. As his slim fingers ran up and down John's shaft, occasionally teasing the tip, John felt his own orgasm coming. This time it was Paul that held him.  
After, he grinned at Paul.  
"Learning fast, aren't we?"  
Paul smiled lazily at him, and snuggled under John's encircling arms. He felt safe, loved and protected, and he couldn't remember when he had last felt this happy.


	29. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know you!

Rob leaned over the box of L.P.'s labelled 'L - M' and asked "So, what's his name?"  
John looked up in astonishment at his boss. It had been a hectic Saturday for the little retro record shop, and Rob had stepped in to help. John was just counting the takings for the day when this question was suddenly launched at him.   
"Eh?" John frowned.  
Rob, sporting long pink and red hair tied back in a ponytail, one dangling earring in the shape of a skull, and a stetson stuck on top of the whole ensemble, grinned knowingly at John, and winked. From the box of records he was leaning on he extracted a Dylan L.P.  
"Someone has to be the reason behind this."  
John coloured.."Oh..right...sorry.."  
Rob's grin grew wider. "Most nights, love, I've been in after you've gone home just sorting these darlings into their correct boxes. So..what IS his name?"  
John grinned sheepishly. "Paul" Just saying his name gave him a warm feeling inside.  
"Paul, eh? Nice simple name...goes well with John. And when are we going to meet this guy that's turned your brain to mush, then?"  
"Oh, I, er, dunno. When occasion permits, I expect."  
"Hmm. Does he work?"  
"Yeah, he's with Ritchie at the hospital...does a bit of sludge bumping, y'know."  
"And?"  
"What?"  
"Tell me about him. Come on, John, spice up me life a bit. What's he look like?"  
John's eyes glazed. "He's fucking gorgeous...like you wouldn't believe. He's tall..tall as me..with black hair and these amazing eyes that are sorta green. Oh..and he's built like a racehorse..y'know, legs a mile long that go all the way up to..." John stopped, and chuckled. "Sound smitten, don't I?"  
"Well, judging by the mess the boxes have been in, I'd say y'are, son. How old is he?"  
"Twenty one"  
"Hmm..nice age. Jacob was twenty one when we met.....just finishing his law training. And what a meeting that was." This time it was Rob's eyes that glazed as he thought back to the day that he met the man that would become his lifelong partner." Is he from round here?"  
"Yeah..Allerton way, I think. He lives with his flatmate, George, who's a friend of Ritchie's." John paused, thinking "He's a really good musician. Well, he's really good on guitar..bloody brilliant, actually. Apparently he's good on piano too.." now who had told him that? Was it George?.."Never heard him though 'cos we ain't got one."  
Rob's eyes showed a flicker of interest. "Guitar, eh? Good as in REALLY good?"  
"Yeah..no kidding, Rob, really good."  
"Does he teach? Or would he? It's just..."he pushed himself off the box of records he'd been leaning on " kids...well, y'know, like your age, come in here and ask about lessons. I was thinking of branching out, using that little spare room at the back as a tuition room, but I'd have to get someone first. D'you think he'd be interested?"  
John blinked...wow, that was..."Well...yeah, I guess he could be. I'd need to talk to him."  
"I mean...I'd need to hear him, meet him first, y'know...though I would trust you to be honest. If you say he can play I'm sure he can."  
John thought swiftly. Paul had a very small world, although over the last couple of weeks he'd seemed to be coming out of his shell with other people. Ritchie had been enthusing about Paul to John, telling him how much more he was now mixing with the other staff. A job like this would be just up Paul's street. John knew from his own experience Paul was very patient as a teacher.  
"Yeah..let me talk to him. I'll get back to you."  
"Good..good. Now..when are we gonna meet him? Could do with an extra pair of hands on a Saturday if he's not working."  
John looked up hopefully. "You mean that?"  
"Course I mean it. Bring him along...then I can get to see your prized possession."  
"Er..right. Right, I'll do that. He's, erm, a bit shy, though"  
"Shy?" Rob couldn't imagine John with anyone that fitted this description.  
"Well, mebbe shy isn't the right word..he doesn't do well meeting new people. It takes him time..y'know. Not that he's not friendly.." John hastened to amend.  
Rob nodded, not entirely understanding. "Well..tell y'what, John. Me and Jacob are having a little party to celebrate our anniversary...we met fifteen years ago next Wednesday..15th March...ah, what a night that was. Jacob was just into revising for his finals and he met me...don't know how he managed to graduate! Any road up, just a little celebration, like I said. Upstairs, in our flat. Was gonna invite y' anyways...so you may as well bring your gorgeous hunk along. Anytime from seven onwards. Okay?"  
John beamed. "Sounds fantastic, mate. Shall I bring a bottle?"  
Rob gave a big grin "Oh no...champagne at twenty paces...Jacob's got it all organised." He gave a wink "There'll be some beer too, though, I'll make sure of that."

 

Ritchie and Paul were already at home when John arrived back Saturday evening. He'd been wracking his brain as to how he could raise the subject of Paul doing guitar tuition at the shop. It would be such a breakthrough for Paul, and would use his talent in a positive way. John knew Paul well enough by now to know he couldn't just present it as a fait accompli...he'd have to work round to the subject gradually. However, he'd definitely have to mention it to Paul because of the party on Wednesday, because if he didn't, Rob probably would. Ritchie was busy cooking in the kitchen...he called an "hello" out to John. Paul, who'd been sitting playing his guitar on the settee, rose with a smile, and went straight into John's arms. John ruffled the dark hair, and gave him a peck on the cheek.  
"Okay? What you been up to all day, eh, while I've been working?"  
Before Paul could reply, Ritchie shouted out "playing...ALL day"  
Paul blushed, and snuggled deeper into John's arms, burying his nose in John's chest, enjoying inhaling his scent. John hugged him in amusement.  
"Alright for some, eh?" He eased Paul off him while he slipped off his leather jacket.  
"Hey, Paulie, we've got an invite. You and me..a party Wednesday night..." His back was to Paul as he slipped off his jacket, but he heard Paul gasp, and turned to see Paul had gone as white as a sheet.  
"Paul? Paul, what's the matter?"  
Paul's breathing was escalating..he began to struggle, hyperventilating. Suddenly, Ritchie was there, an arm around him, easing him towards the settee. John looked on, bewildered.  
"John..get a glass of water, quick.."  
John's feet moved of their own accord into the kitchen. He could hear Ritchie saying things like.."breathe...slow..slow..deep breaths, Paul, deep breaths.."  
When he went back in, Ritchie had Paul seated on the settee, and was encouraging him to breathe slowly. Ritchie glanced at John, seeing his puzzlement.  
"Panic attack.."Ritchie whispered, although Paul could obviously hear him. "I've seen him have them before. He'll be okay...won't you, Paul."  
Ritchie was holding Paul's hands, which were shaking, so John slipped an arm around him.  
He frowned at Ritchie. "What brought that on?"  
Ritchie shrugged, and looked at Paul. "Paul? What's wrong? What happened."  
Paul tugged his hands from Ritchie's grasp, and curled into John's side, burying his head under John's shoulder, and shook his head. He mumbled something. John frowned, unable to catch the word, but Ritchie did. "Party?" Ritchie queried, looking at John for enlightenment.  
John felt guilty, though heaven knew he had no reason to.  
"Er..yeah..we're invited to a party. Rob and Jacob..it's their anniversary. They've been together for fifteen years, and they asked me..."he gave the figure curled up into his side a hug"..and Paul. They'd like to meet him."  
Ritchie knew immediately what had set Paul off, but he couldn't explain to John, at least, not while Paul was there. He nodded at John. and tried to indicate with a wink that he'd   
talk later. For now, best get things back to normal. He patted Paul's knee comfortingly.  
"Have a drink of water, Paul...I'm just gonna get on with this bolognese or it'll be burnt. And then we'll have a rubbish tea. Okay now?"   
He saw a slight nod from Paul, but there was no way he was emerging yet. Ritchie nodded again at John.  
"Beers all round, eh? I'll put some on chill...then Paul's got summat to show you on guitar."

Paul had remained subdued all evening, pushed his food around on the plate, only spoke if spoken to, and disappeared off to bed early without showing John what it was he'd been practicing. John sat there on the settee feeling puzzled. He nursed yet another bottle of beer and, after Paul had retired, leaned on the kitchen doorjamb to talk to Ritchie..or rather to probe. Ritchie was busy washing up. John felt a pang of guilt..after all, he'd cooked the meal too.  
John pushed himself off the doorway. "Gis a tea towel Ritch an' I'll dry for y'"  
They worked in companiable silence for a bit, then came the inevitable question, as Ritchie knew it would.  
"So...what did I do?"  
Ritchie sighed and paused, resting his elbows on the edge of the sink.  
"You mentioned party" he explained.  
John was completely gob smacked. "Party? That's what set Paul off?"  
"Uh huh" Ritchie carried on washing up.  
"Why?"  
"Why what?"  
"What's wrong with a party?"  
Ritchie shook his head. "You'd have to ask Paul, love."  
"And something tells me he won't talk to me. You know..y' do, don't you? Why can't you tell me?"  
"It's not my place..but, well, if you like...tell y'what, I'll talk to George...extenuating circumstances and all that.."  
"No" John huffed "don't bother. I think I'd rather hear it from Paul when he's ready. It's just...sometimes it's like going out with a ticking time bomb. I dunno what's gonna set him off. I really really want to support him, but I'm swimming out of me depth. I just wish he'd say."  
"He will one day, I'm sure." Ritchie smiled at John. "He's very fond of you...well, a bit more than that, I reckon. He's spent the whole day watching the clock, waitin' for you to get back."  
John nodded "Yeah, I know" he said softly. "So" he gave himself a shake " What do I do about the party? And how the fuck was I supposed to know summat as innocent as being invited to a party would set him off?"  
"You weren't John...so don't blame y'self. Let it go..but d'you know what?" Ritchie looked intently at John " You should encourage Paul to go with you..regard it as a hurdle he needs to get over. He'd probably do it for you."  
"D'you reckon?"  
"Yeah" Ritchie nodded "Yeah, I do."

 

Ritchie was, to John's amazement, right. Paul had not wanted to let John down and, although it took far more courage than John would ever know about, here he was, at John's side, waiting to be admitted to Rob and Jacob's flat situated above the shop. John had not found the opportunity to mention the guitar tuition job to Paul yet, so he'd had to warn Rob not to mention it, but he was over the moon to have Paul at his side as they entered the welcoming room. They were the last to arrive, and as they walked in all eyes turned to them...or rather, all eyes turned to Paul. John felt Paul shrink closer to his side, but he took firm hold of his elbow and steered him towards the drinks table. John was strongly aware of the many interested pairs of eyes that followed his partner. He chuckled to himself. Paul looked at him in consternation.  
"What?" he whispered. John bent down to whisper in his ear "I think I need to put a bag over your head. Is this what going out with you is gonna be like?"  
Paul coloured, but it only added to his attractiveness. A guy sashayed across to Paul, totally ignoring John.  
"Hi..." his eyes drank in Paul's body and face " I'm Simon..can I get you a drink?"  
"I'm getting him one, and he's with me, so hands off, mate" John said bluntly. Unoffended, Simon winked and moved away. "No harm in trying" he sang back over his shoulder to John. Paul shifted, uncomfortable, but John found it all highly amusing.  
Rob moved across to them, towing Jacob in his wake.  
He stretched out his hand to Paul.  
"So this is the guy that's bowled our John off his feet" he looked at Paul appreciatively "Christ, John, you're not wrong, are you? Anymore where you got him from?"  
"Now, now" cautioned Jacob, moving smoothly to Rob's side "You're not supposed to flirt on our anniversary. Just ignore him, Paul..."he held out his hand "Hello..I'm Jacob, by the way, partner to this here...person" he gave a smile at Rob. It was so obvious they were happy together, though they were so different. Jacob was smartly dressed and Rob sported his usual cowboy outfit. They swept Paul and John off and did the rounds of the room, introducing them to their many gay friends. John kept Paul close...it was certainly not his imagination that everyone they were introduced to eyed Paul as if he was the tastiest dish on the menu that night, He felt unable to leave him under such circumstances. All he did was pop to the loo and when he emerged a few minutes later it was to find Paul surrounded by a circle of admirers. John felt he literally had to bat his way through to get back to Paul's side. Nonetheless, despite John's anxiety at all the competition he faced, they did enjoy themselves. Paul relaxed enough to chat to a few of the people there..particularly  
Jacob, who, seeming to sense Paul's embarrassment at the stir he was creating, drew him quietly off to one side and sat chatting to him on a sofa up a corner. Each time John looked over at him he looked completely relaxed and was happily conversing with Jacob. John heaved a sigh of relief, and found Rob at his side.  
"Well" Rob smiled knowingly at John" You've certainly managed to bag a beauty there, John. I'm surprised you dare go out anywhere with him."  
John smirked into his drink. "Beginning to think that meself, Rob...I feel I've been fighting other guys off all night. They're like flies round a dog turd."  
Rob winked. "I don't think I would describe your boyfriend as a dog turd, dear, but if I were you I'd put a ball and chain on him..or brand him at the very least. You didn't exaggerate when you described him, that's for certain. Are you happy together?"  
John considered the question thoughtfully. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd say we are. He's a bit of an enigma to me still..doesn't talk much about himself but..well, I'm really fond of him.."John shifted, not used to being so blunt "actually, I love him."  
Paul chose that moment to scan the room with anxious eyes for John's whereabouts and, having spotted him, broke into a megawatt smile. John couldn't help but respond.


	30. Moments in time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those special moments

John woke in the early light because something disturbed him...oh, wait, make that someone. He was aware of a pair of warm lips making tiny butterfly kisses all over his chest. With a deep sigh he kept his eyes closed and let himself relax while he enjoyed the sensation. Paul was secure under his left arm, which curled around the naked figure that was currently attacking him in the most delightful way imaginable. After a few moments the sensation ceased, and despite keeping his eyelids firmly closed and refusing to acknowledge the light of day, John knew he was being watched..hmm, stared at, more like. He peeled one eye open blearily to find Paul nose to nose with him. A smile spread over Paul's face as he saw John beginning to stir.  
"Mm..morning Macca. It's early...surely you don't.."  
Paul's hand slid up John's leg, causing ripples of excitement when the fingers brushed the fine hair of John's legs, coming to rest hopefully at the top.   
Paul raised an eyebrow expectantly, watching.  
"Jesus, Paul, it's not even..."John peered blearily at his alarm " six o' clock yet.."  
Paul began making tiny circles with his thumb at the top of John's leg, occasionally brushing the soft balls in passing. John stifled a groan. He really needed a bit more sleep.  
"Paulie...come on, Paulie" he said softly."let's have a bit more kip, eh?"  
Through half slitted eyes John saw Paul's smile widen, and slim fingers began exploring John's nether regions more agressively. John started to harden. He could already feel Paul's arousal firm against his hip. With a groan, and a grunt, and finally a lunge, John grabbed tight hold of Paul and rolled them both over so Paul was underneath him. Paul wriggled in excitement having finally achieved his aim of waking John, slipped his arms round John's upper body and flipped them both back over. Leaning his right arm and full weight across John's chest, he put his mouth against John's ear and hissed "My turn, I think!"   
John lay back and simply enjoyed himself.

"Teach? Guitar? But..but.." Paul was wide eyed and open mouthed at the proposal. "I can't do that."  
"Why?"  
Paul took a deep breath, and folded his arms across his chest. "Because, John, I'm not qualified."  
"Neither are half the people offering lessons, and you're far better than them, son."  
"But..I don't know how to"  
"Yes you do. You taught me a load of stuff.."  
"Such as?"  
John began to tick an imaginary list off his fingers "How to play a twelve bar blues. How to finger pick. How to use arpeggios to get around. How to change major chords to minor by shifting one finger. How to find the key of a piece of music. Why the dominant is important, what a seventh is, how to work out the notes you need to play a riff..." John paused, and looked at Paul, who'd gone silent. "Shall I go on?"  
Paul shook his head, a frown creasing his face. "But even if I gave it a go, when shall I have the time, John? In case you've forgotten, I go to work."  
"On a Saturday, at the shop, when I'm there. You're not gonna be on your own..all the time you're busy, I'll be serving. And I can keep you fortified with tea and.." John leaned nearer to whisper " chocolate..."  
Paul batted him away impatiently, a smile quirking the corner of his lips.  
"It takes more than chocolate to bribe me, y'know"  
"No it doesn't, son, you come cheap."  
"I want more than chocolate if I'm going to agree to this madcap scheme"  
"What'll it take?"  
John licked his lips knowingly.  
Paul pretended to think. "Well..."  
John pounced on him, wrapping his arms tight and ravishing his lips. Breathless, Paul emerged tousled and flushed after a couple of minutes. John gave a broad grin.  
"That?"  
"Yeah...that'll do."

"John, there is no such word as 'teslow' "  
"Yes there is."  
George surveyed his scrabble letters mournfully. "Well all I've got is six vowels and one consonant...mind you if I stick them all together it'll sound like someone sat on Gandhi."  
Hearing his name, the cat strolled over, tail in the air, to observe the board game that was being played.  
"Paul..come on, you're supposed to be in charge. Tell John he can't have teslow."  
Paul looked at his partner. "John, Ritchie says you can't have teslow."  
"Tell Ritchie to go jump under a Liverpool bus."  
"John says you can go jump under a Liverpool bus."  
"Paul, tell John he can find another bed tonight."  
"John, Ritchie says you can find another bed tonight."  
"Paul, tell Ritchie I'm sleeping in your bed tonight."  
"Ritchie, John said he's sleeping in your bed tonight.."  
"Paul, that was the wrong way round, y' daft sod."  
"Well John definitely ain't sleeping in my bed 'cos I'll be in it."  
"Paul" whined George "can't you keep order?"  
"What is teslow anyway?"  
"It's a low table that you put a tes on!"  
George attacked John with the scrabble board.

Paul surveyed the small white painted room, complete with piano, two stools and a music stand, that he would be working in. His stomach felt as if a hundred butterflies were about to take flight. To do something for fun was one thing. To be paid for it as a proper job was another. He ran his fingers over the upright piano, discovering a melody that he could improvise an accompaniment to, and chewed his lip thoughtfully. Music had always come easily to him. It had been second nature, like breathing. How did you pass that skill on to others that didn't possess it? He had vague childhood memories from when his mother had been alive of impromptu musical gatherings when his Irish relatives had been visiting. Of fiddles picked up and played, voices raised in song, toes tapping, feet that couldn't stay still because the music demanded movement be set to it. Of someone bouncing him on their knee in time to the beat. Jigs in three time, reels in four time and lullabies that soothed in a rocking six eight. All this had been passed on without him asking for it. The music had been a gift, there in his blood. He played on the piano, letting his imagination fly, unaware of the fact that Rob, Jacob and John were gathered in the doorway, listening.   
John found he had to brush a tear surreptitiously from beneath his eye. The music was beautiful, other worldly. It painted pictures of joy and sorrow and a yearning...John didn't know what the yearning was for, but even as Paul brought the music to a final cadence it left John wanting more.  
Rob shifted quietly on his feet to let Paul know he was there, and gave a gentle clap. Startled, Paul blushed. He'd been so caught up in what he was playing he'd forgotten anyone was listening.  
"Can you play that again?"  
"Erm..no, not really. I just made it up."  
Jacob, ever practical, suggested "You know, Paul, we could set you up with a way of recording quite easily..not a cheap one, but a really good one. Can you write the music down?"  
Paul shook his head. "I'd find it difficult to replicate it. However" he brightened " I know what chord patterns I used, and if I wrote them down I could produce something similar."  
John, who had stood silent throughout, looked at Paul in amazement. "Where the fuck did all that come from?" he asked. "Your head?"  
Paul grinned. "Well, I didn't pull it out of me arse, John."  
"You have a very nice arse, don't dis it" John retorted.

"Cinema?"  
"Cinema, Paul. It's where one goes when one wants to watch a film."  
Paul batted John "I know that, y' daft sod."  
"Well?"  
"Well what?"  
John heaved a dramatic sigh.  
"I'm asking do you want to go to the cinema. With me. To see Rogue One."  
"Is that a date?" Paul's lips curled upwards, teasing.   
John huffed, crossing his arms, and submitted.   
"Yes..it's a date, Paul."  
"Hmm" Paul considered, head on one side. "And will you buy me chocolates?"  
"For fuck sake...I'll buy you Thornton's shop if you want."  
Paul nodded. "Okay then."

"John?"  
"Yes Paul?"  
"Are you asleep?"  
John sighed. "I was just starting to drift...what's the matter?"  
"I can't sleep."  
"Try counting sheep."  
"I have."  
"Try again."  
Silence.  
"John?"  
"What now, Paul?"  
"I still can't sleep."  
"God..you've only given it five minutes."  
"I'm bored."  
John's mouth twitched. Yeah, he could well believe that.  
"Try co..."  
"I have. Twice."  
Paul ran his hand up and down John's chest, enjoying the sensation. John caught his hand, enclosing it within his own.  
"John...." Paul whined.  
John grit his teeth. "Would you like a story?"  
Paul raised himself up to better observe John in the darkness.  
"A story?" he queried.  
"Yeah. Once upon a time. Fell in love. The end."  
"John!"  
"What's the matter?"  
"You missed out the happily ever after."

Paul was staying over at Ritchie's. A bright morning in late March, and they were both heading out to work. Paul pulled his overcoat closer round him against the early morning chill, shoving his fingers deep in his coat pockets while he dallied on the step listening to Ritchie giving last minute shopping instructions to a sleepy John. Paul's eyes scanned the quiet neighbourhood, the rain spangled spiderwebs on the privet hedges, the black cat chasing a piece of paper, a guy leaning nonchalantly on the wall of the house across the road, hoodie zipped up, smoking.  
"Don't forget, John, cos we don't have any in."  
Paul turned as he heard Ritchie appear in the hallway. Ritchie was muttering to himself.  
"I bet he'll forget, or oversleep, and then we'll have to go and do this shopping when we get back."  
Paul just smiled. It was far too beautiful a morning to worry about shopping. It would only occur to him to think about such things when he was hungry. He considered himself lucky that in both households he had at least one person happy to ensure he had food to eat.  
They fell into step together, heading towards Minton Street and the turn to the High Street. The guy that had been smoking threw away his cigarette and followed at a discrete distance. Ritchie was chatting away to Paul who was humming replies automatically, his head full of a tune he'd woken up with.  
"Paul?" The voice was clear, a scouse accent.  
Paul stopped and turned, unawares.   
Ritchie halted too.  
The guy that had been smoking approached them. He looked at Paul enquiringly.  
"Are you Paul McCartney?"  
Ritchie snapped to. He put himself swiftly in front of Paul.  
"Who's asking?"  
The young guy just grinned. "S'alright, mate, I've got me answer."


	31. I'm only sleeping...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who was that person? Is Luke still around?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I didn't update yesterday because...dadadada...fanfare...I sat at the piano at no, 20 Forthlin Road yesterday afternoon and played Let it Be....and today I can't get my head around doing anything, so I hope this chapter isn't absolutely dire.

Paul stood, dark eyes expressionless, watching the hooded figure jauntily walk back in the direction they'd just come from. He felt as if everything had gone into freefall, himself included. After a moment, he became aware of Ritchie tugging at his sleeve. He glanced down to meet Ritchie's worried eyes.  
"Who was that, Paul? D'you know him?"  
Paul shook his head slowly, suddenly aware of his heart hammering behind his ribs.  
Ritchie glanced about him, scanning the street, half expecting to see sinister black cars appear. He looked back at Paul, who was stationary, frozen. Staying in one place was suddenly not an option.  
"Paul...I think we should go, just in case..." just in case what Ritchie had no idea. Paul didn't move. Ritchie's face softened.  
"Hey...are you okay?"  
Paul stirred, plastered on a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and said "Yeah, I'm good."  
Well, there was a lie if ever there was one. Ritchie steered Paul in the right direction, and they set off again, Paul miles away, Ritchie like a cat on hot bricks regarding every car and person within their vicinity as suspicious.  
They arrived at work unscathed and Paul was quick to get into his overalls and disappear off to fulfill his duties. Trevor noted the speed with which Paul set to, and from under his eyelids he watched Ritchie's half hearted attempt to follow suit.  
"Everything okay, Ritch?"  
"What, eh? Oh yeah...yeah..fine, ta"  
"No problems with your little friend, are there?"  
"No..no..Paul's good, ta"  
"Hmm..you seem not with it, that's all. Anyway.." Trevor folded his newspaper in half, and turned his fullblown stare on Ritchie."How's he doing? Alright?"  
Sometimes Ritchie wished he could confide in Trevor. He felt sure he would understand. It would be good to have someone to confide in other than just George when wobbles occurred. John was too close to the whole situation, even if he had known.  
"Yeah, yeah, Paul's doing fine.."  
"No more cars chasing him, eh?"  
Fuck. That was rather astute. It shook Ritchie somewhat...was he that transparent? The silence...because Ritchie couldn't think of what to say...spoke volumes.  
The silence. It stretched on and on. Trevor waited, expectantly. Ritchie floundered. Finally, Trevor heaved a huge sigh.  
"How long have I known you, our Ritchie, eh? How long?"  
Ritchie tried to find a smile, but his muscles wouldn't obey him.  
"A long time, Trevor.."  
"A long time, he says. Eight years nearly, son, eight years. I would have thought in that time you could have come to trust me."  
Ritchie pulled a wry face, went to deny anything, realised he couldn't, and sat down on the chair by Trevor, running his hand wearily over his face.  
"I wish I could talk to you..."  
"Y'can.."  
"Paul's story ain't mine to tell. That's me problem. I'd be breaking a confidence."  
"Can y'hint?"  
Ritchie gave a ghost of a smile. "Hint?" he queried.   
"Yeah...hint. Is he in trouble with the law at all?"  
"Jesus, no...but ..he was once involved with some who are sort of..pushing their luck, I'd guess."  
Trevor frowned.."Right. I wouldn't have put Paul down as the kind who'd get involved in summat like that."  
"He didn't deliberately. Now, what's happening, y'see..."Jesus, it helped to get this off his chest " is someone who he was involved with is..sort of..after him. A bit threatening, like."  
"An' what's this person called?"  
Ritchie shifted awkwardly. "Well...I can't really put a name to him, cos, anyway, it's not likely he'd do any dirty work himself. More like to get someone else get their hands dirty."  
Trevor's brain was ticking overtime, even as he kept his face implaccid.  
He muttered, almost to himself, while watching Ritchie under lowered lids "So...someone's after our Paul, are they, and y' worried they might be on to him...where he's living, like...am I right?"  
Ritchie heaved a sigh."Yeah, in a nutshell."  
"And where do they think he's living?"  
"I think they think he's with me...which, of course, he is...sometimes..." Ritchie trailed off, uncomfortable.   
Trevor smiled knowingly "Ah...the boyfriend."  
Ritchie looked up, surprised. Trevor's smile grew wider.  
"I'm not stupid, y'know. Worked that one out a couple of weeks after he started. What's his name?"  
"John."  
"John...aye, that's it. So what does John think of all this hooha then?"  
"Er..he doesn't really know."  
"Not know?"  
"Well..Paul sort of..keeps things close to his chest."  
"How d'you know then?"  
Ritchie shrugged. "George told me. After Paul got beaten up that time."  
"Ah..so let me get this right. John and Paul are partners, yeah?, but John doesn't know about Paul but you do? Seems an odd state of affairs to me."  
"Yeah" Ritchie huffed a bit "I guess it does but..well, I guess Paul will tell John in his own good time."  
"So...are we running a risk here, then?"  
Ritchie started. "A risk?"  
"Yeah....is your little friend likely to get kidnapped from here if we're not careful?"  
Ritchie blanched. "Christ, Trevor, I hope not. I don't think they know he works here."  
"Hmm" Trevor pondered. "So..I guess you'll want to stay on the same shifts a bit longer, then, just to be sure?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Appreciated, mate."

Ritchie messaged George. George messaged John. Ritchie messaged John. John messaged Ritchie. And so on...all morning. When Ritchie and Paul left the hospital that evening they were met at the staff entrance by John and George, both of whom looked worried. John took Paul's arm possessively, uncaring that it was done in front of a lot of bystanders."  
"John" Paul hissed, trying to shake him off.   
John, red faced, would not let go. "I just wish the fuck you'd talk to me, Paul, and tell me what's going on" John retorted.  
Paul coloured and clammed up.   
George stepped in.."Paul, I think you ought to come back with me tonight..just..well, y'know"  
"Well, I DON'T know..."John was getting frustrated. " I wish someone would tell me what the fuck is going on. Jesus H. Christ."  
"John...I think Paul would be better..."  
"I know, George, I heard y' an' I understand...I do...but all this cat and mouse and me...I'm your fucking boyfriend and I'm living in the dark."  
Paul coloured even more, aware of people watching.  
"Please.." he whispered.  
"Please what?"  
"Please, John, just...just let go a minute, okay? Yes, George, I'll come to you tonight."  
"Well, in that case, so will I."John butted in. He glanced at George "if you don't mind, that is?"  
"S'not a problem, mate, y' know that."  
Ritchie looked from one to the other.  
"So..who's walking Paul to work?"  
"Oh, for Chrissake.."Paul hissed. "I'm fine...I can walk meself. Anyway, Luke..." Paul stopped, alarmed. A deep red flush crept up his neck.  
John looked at him intently. "Luke?" he queried, pushing for more. Paul looked away...he could have kicked himself.  
George came to his rescue, tapping him gently on the arm.  
"Paul, come on, mate, let's get home. I'll walk him to work tomorrow, Ritch. Not a problem...and, John, y'can stay the night if y' want, y' know that. Y' don't have t' ask."

 

They were squashed onto Paul's tiny camp bed, and had left the door open because otherwise the space was so cramped it became stuffy very easily.   
It was the middle of the night when John was woken by Paul thrashing around. He'd barely had time to register before he was hit across the face by an outflung arm. Paul was muttering..whispering...all John could catch was a stream of .."no's.." and "please's"...There was so little room to move, he tried to ease himself out from under Paul's body.   
As he shifted, Paul's movements became even more violent, and he started kicking.   
"Whoa..whoa..hang on, mate.." John tried to catch hold of the restless body, but Paul seemed to have doubled the amount of arms and legs he had and become as slippery as an eel in the process. The whole bed began to dangerously teeter, and John slid onto his knees, ready to catch Paul. By now Paul was starting to really cry out, and John began to freak. Nothing he could do would shake Paul out of what seemed to be a spiralling nightmare. Next moment he felt George at his side. George skilfully caught Paul under his arms, yanked him into a sitting position, and calmly and firmly kept saying his name. John watched in amazement as Paul slowly stopped writhing and yelling, and came down to reality.   
"Y'okay?" was George's only query. Paul nodded, trying to shove sweaty hair out of his eyes, his mind still swirling with vivid images. George looked at John, and surrendered Paul's limp body into his arms.  
"Here, look after him...I'll go get him some water."  
John sat on the edge of the bed and slipped his arm around Paul, who slumped tiredly against him. John ran his hand up and down Paul's arm, whispering soothing words.  
"Hey...what was all that about, eh?"  
Paul didn't answer, and John wasn't expecting him to. While he waited for George to come back with water, John mulled over the situation. He really needed Paul to open up to him. If Paul wouldn't, and George didn't want to, and Ritchie couldn't, then......  
This was not something John wanted to do, but...Dean obviously knew. Could he, should he?  
George arrived with the water, breaking John's thought patterns.  
"Here y'go...here y'are Paul. Have a drink." He held the glass to Paul's unresponsive lips, trying to tip a little of the liquid in. John sought his eyes.  
"I've never seen him have a nightmare like this before."  
George gave a slight smile, keeping the glass against Paul's mouth.  
"He's not had one for a long time...certainly not since he's been with you. Just a hiccup, I guess."  
John hugged Paul tighter. Whatever had gone on, he was gonna help him through it.

"Out for a meal? Really? Not just beans on toast at Grotty Meg's?"  
John laughed at Paul's description of their local corner cafe, which wasn't really grotty, but did serve tea in chipped earthenware mugs and had a limited menu of something and beans.  
"No. A meal...you, me, not George's restaurant either."  
"Ooh...what's the occasion?"  
John caught Paul into his arms, nipped at his ear, breathed in it, and said "Do we need one?"  
Paul involuntarily shivered. "Er..no, I guess not. Just wondered, like."  
"I'm celebrating that I have the most ravishing boyfriend on this planet.." Paul blushed.." and that's a fact."  
"Well, in that case."  
"So..where shall we go? There's that new sushi one.." Paul pulled a face. "Okay..no to that. The Italian...hmm, we always have Italian at home..or sausage and mash."  
"I like sausage and mash" Paul defended. "It's my favourite."  
"There's a Greek one in town. Shall we try that? Something different."  
"I like moussaka...but that's the only Greek I know."  
"Okay...come on Paulie, get changed, I'll ring and see if they've any spaces."  
"Won't it be dear?"  
"I'm buying..now get your sweet arse upstairs and make yourself pretty."  
"Cheeky."

Two hours later, and replete, they both leaned back in their chairs, relaxed. John's eyes scoured the room with it's subdued lighting, and many little hidden away booths, of which they'd managed to secure one. There were tables as well which seated far more, and at least one seemed to have a party in full swing. Paul yawned, and rubbed his eyes. John looked at him in amusement.  
"Tired?"  
"Uh huh. Glad I'm not working tomorrow. I feel I've been up at crack of dawn every day so far."  
"We can get a taxi back."  
"I don't mind walking. Not a problem."  
"Come on, Paulie, you're asleep on your feet. It won't cost the earth."  
Paul stretched out his long legs, and surveyed his new shoes. It was really nice to be able to afford some new clothes and finally bin his Converse.  
"Well, 'spect it'll save me new shoes getting hammered."  
John's mouth twitched in a smile. He signalled to the waiter for the bill, and Paul stood up.  
"Just need to go for a pee"  
"Okay. Don't get lost."  
As he walked across the room, a few pairs of eyes followed him. John's lips twitched. He was a handsome bugger. John looked back at the bill. He didn't notice a tall, blonde haired figure slip out of his chair at one of the tables and follow Paul into the gents.

Still yawning, Paul ran his hands under the warm water. He washed thoroughly, carefully avoiding his watch. His eyes were busy on what he was doing.  
"Hello Paul."  
It was quietly spoken. Paul's eyes shot upwards in alarm and met Luke's eyes in the mirror that was in front of him. Letting out a gasp, and feeling his legs immediately turn to jelly, he spun round. Luke was running his eyes over him appreciatively, from the top of his head to his feet.  
Luke's smile was cold. "You've grown."  
Paul tried to calm his breathing. Don't panic, he was telling himself, don't panic.  
He tried to step backwards as Luke approached him, but the sink dug into his back. His eyes were wide and dark, poised for flight. Luke didn't stop walking until they were touching chest to chest.  
"I searched for you, you know."  
Paul didn't answer, just kept his eyes on Luke's face.  
"But then, you knew I would. Didn't you. How did you get out?"  
Paul had frozen. Luke shook his head, and smiled.  
"Never mind. Not a problem. What is important is that you are here now."  
Luke stepped right up against Paul, took firm hold of his arms, pushed him against the sink and violently kissed him, pushing with his tongue and his teeth. Paul squirmed but was effectually pinned, unable to move.  
"What the fuck is going on..?"  
John. Paul tried to push Luke off him, but although he released Paul's mouth he clamped his hands round Paul's wrists in an iron grip, keeping him behind him as he turned to face the newcomer.  
"Ah..hello, John."  
Shit...Paul had no idea that John knew Luke. For a moment he panicked even more, thinking this was set-up, but John's next words reassured him.  
"Get the fuck off him.."  
Luke transferred both of Paul's wrists to his one hand, holding his other out in front of him.  
"Stop right there, or I'll break his arm...and don't think I wouldn't."  
Luke was so calm it was chilling, and John had no reason to believe he wouldn't do as he said.  
"Boyfriend, is he?"  
John watched. Paul squirmed.  
"Hmm...how much do you know about him, I wonder."  
"No!" the word burst from Paul. Luke was unfazed.  
"Are you aware of how many men your 'boyfriend' " he put the word in air quotes " has had? Hmm? Not exactly a virgin, are we, Paul."  
Paul tried to wriggle his hands free, but Luke just held on tighter.  
"Have you told him, Paul? Have you told him what a slut you are?"  
John stood immobile, watching, feeling his blood start to boil.  
Paul suddenly stopped struggling, and went limp. He couldn't meet John's eyes.  
"I didn't..." he whispered.  
"Didn't what, Paul? Tell John. What didn't you want?"  
Luke's eyes met John's. His smile grew.  
"You don't want him. He's nothing. I'll have him back. I know just how to look after him. Go find yourself a nice lad...there's plenty around."  
"No...John, please.."  
John straightened up and looked at Paul. His eyes were cold, and Paul's heart sank. He didn't know that silent tears were slipping unheeded down his face.  
John turned and Paul thought he was going to walk away.  
Next moment, Luke was on the floor, his nose pumping blood.  
He groaned and tried to get up, but this time it was Paul who hit him. Every violation was bound into Paul's fist. Each time Luke tried to rise, Paul would knock him down again.  
Through a red rage of tears, Paul became aware of John tugging at his arm.  
"Paul..Paul, he's down. Come on, let's go."  
John shoved Paul out through the restaurant, grabbing their jackets as they passed the booth, and out into the cold April night. With his arm firmly around Paul, he hailed a taxi, and shoved the traumatised figure into the backseat. He clambered in after, and scooped Paul into his arms. He delivered a gentle kiss to the tear stained cheeks, pushed the dark hair off Paul's face, cupped his chin, stared into his eyes and said "We need to talk."


	32. The word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul finally talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be quite short!

Ritchie looked up with a smile as John and Paul entered the living room, then his face altered and he leapt to his feet seeing the condition they were both in. Paul was clutching his hands which were covered in blood. So was the clean white shirt he'd put on for the occasion. John looked dishevilled and grim, his lips drawn together in a tight line.   
"What the fuck happened" he asked in concern.  
"We had a small altercation" John responded briefly. He towed Paul towards the settee, pushing him down on it. Paul looked as if he was on another planet, face devoid of emotion. Ritchie stared at him in consternation.  
"Put the kettle on, eh, Ritch? Think we need a cuppa."  
Ritchie started, then nodded.  
"Kettle...yeah, okay. Are you both alright?"  
John sat down by Paul and pulled him in to his side.  
"We will be, yeah."  
As Ritchie filled the kettle with water, he could hear John's voice as a soft murmur. He frowned to himself. What the hell had gone on? While the kettle boiled, he made his way back to the doorway.  
"D'you want a damp cloth? Clean some of that..blood..up?"  
John nodded a brief smile. "Yeah, that'd be good, ta"  
Ritchie ran a dishcloth under the warm water, and went back in, passing it to John.  
"Who..er.." he cleared his throat nervously..."..who's blood is it?"  
John started to clean Paul's hands gently. Paul didn't respond, just sat there, frozen. John wiped the bruised knuckles.  
"Some arsehole's" he spat. "Some could be Paul's, but not much."  
Ritchie dodged back into the kitchen, made three mugs of strong sweet tea, thinking they'd all had a shock, and entered with them. John took one and passed it to Paul, nudging him to accept.  
"Paul? Paulie, come on. Drink this..it'll help."  
Paul looked at John without really seeing him. His eyes were miles away, but he took the tea.  
Ritchie sat by them, and leaned over to John.  
"What happened?"  
"The restaurant..." John glanced warningly at Ritchie "Luke was there."  
"Oh" Ritchie digested this piece of information. They'd almost been expecting something like this to happen eventually.  
John took a sip of his own tea, glanced at the still figure by his side to make sure he was drinking, and turned to Ritchie.  
"Bastard cornered Paul in the gents...but we gave him what for, didn't we, Paul?"  
Paul was blowing on his tea to cool it, and taking tiny sips. He didn't reply.  
John turned back to Ritchie.  
"When he's had this, I'm gonna take him up to bed, okay?"  
"Sure" Ritchie nodded."Sure..whatever. Have you eaten?"  
"Oh yeah" John nodded. "Don't worry. We've eaten."  
"So" Ritchie dropped his voice. "The blood? Who's is it?"  
John glanced at Paul's knuckles and shrugged. "Probably Luke's."

 

Paul's body beside him in bed was stiff. He felt cold too. He'd not said a word since they'd arrived back. It was as if he was in lockdown. John had stripped him, shoved him in the direction of the bathroom downstairs, pointed to the loo, popped some toothpaste on his brush and left him to it. Paul performed all actions automatically and when he had finished turned to John, who led him back upstairs and directed him into the bed. When John had finished his ablutions and slipped in beside Paul, Paul was already asleep. He curved his arm around the stiff cold figure, but Paul didn't respond. John heaved a sigh and let his lids close. He had a feeling there would be repercussions after this incident, and inside he was worried about what state they'd left Luke in. It had taken John all his strength to pull Paul off him. He hugged the unresponsive figure firmly. Whatever happened, they'd face it together.

It came as no surprise to John to be woken in the middle of the night by Paul having a nightmare. Just like before, John found it almost impossible to snap Paul out of it, and this time it was Ritchie that came to help. Finally, Paul woke, dazed and completely bewildered as to where he was. John held him tight, whispering soothing nonsense words. It was almost a relief to all three when daylight broke. John could sense Paul's internal struggle, see him mentally shoving issues back into boxes in his mind, refusing to face reality. John gritted his teeth. Not this time. This time, Paul was going to talk.

Paul was quiet all day, shying like a nervous colt when spoken to, or if anyone made a sudden movement near him. It was a day off for all three of them...a peaceful Sunday, or should have been. Paul was definitely avoiding being alone with John. He hung out near to Ritchie all the time, not conversing, not doing anything, just..being. Ritchie could sense the tension between them both, and sympathised. John wanted to help, Paul wanted to hide away. He'd known Paul long enough by now to know that this was his usual practice.  
John, being John, finally took the bull by the horns. He nudged Ritchie with his elbow, and raised his eyebrows.   
"Leave us alone for a bit" John mouthed at him silently.  
Ritchie nodded, stood up, and, stretching, suddenly announced "Think I'll just pop round to see me mam. Won't be long"  
Panic crossed Paul's face, and he stood up too, then sat down again realising it wasn't his place to just tag along.  
"See you in a bit. I'll just make me an' Paul a cuppa."   
Five minutes later, when John emerged from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, Paul was nowhere to be seen.  
"Shit!" he exclaimed. He'd not heard Paul disappear. He moved through the house, checking each room, and finally traced him to their bedroom, where he was sitting, gazing out of the window, chewing on the end of his thumb. John placed the mug beside him on the bedside table.  
"There y' go...one cuppa"  
Paul nodded, not looking up. It was as if by not acknowledging John's presence he could escape the questioning he knew would come. He kept unfathomable dark eyes fixed on the panes of glass that overlooked a small backyard. John sat on the bed by him, and Paul shifted, his body angled away from John defensively. John ran his hand down Paul's arm, and felt him shiver.  
"Paul?" he asked softly.  
Paul drew a deep breath, refusing to respond. John shifted nearer, and Paul shifted again. A smile touched John's lips.  
"If you move any further up the bed you'll be out the window."  
Silence. John surveyed him from beneath lowered lids, and he put his arm around the stiff figure, pulling him in to his side. He felt Paul struggle, then give up, although his gaze was still locked on the window.  
"There's nothing you can say that will shock me, y'know" John whispered.  
"Yes there is" Paul retorted, his voice low. At least it was a response. John hugged him.  
"Paul, I love you, y' know that y' daft bugger. Nothing...absolutely nothin'...can change that. But I need y' to talk to me, love. Will you?"  
Paul shook his head.  
"Why?"  
"Because...."  
John waited. "Because?..."he prompted.  
It was a strangled whisper. "Because if I tell you you won't want me anymore..."  
John heaved a sigh. "Jesus, Paul...I've just told you that nothing will make any difference. D'you know what's worse for me? Not knowing. That's what. I could ask George or I could ask Ritchie..." John saw a flash of panic cross Paul's face " but d'you know what? I'd rather you told me. I'm not gonna look at you any differently, whatever has happened." He gave Paul another squeeze. "Talk to me, Macca. No secrets, remember."  
Paul finally turned to look at John, his big eyes seeking reassurance. "You won't hate me?"  
John gave a comforting smile. "I could never hate you."  
Paul considered, then nodded. "Okay."  
John's heart gave a jump. This was a big leap of faith for Paul, and he respected that.  
"I don't know where to start..." Paul shook his head.  
"What about at the beginning. And I mean the very beginning. Tell me about your mam..and dad. And..brother, is it?"  
Paul, chewing his lip, nodded. Then he started. His voice was almost a monotone as if to strip the story of any emotion, but as it made it's way through into meeting Luke, his feelings began to emerge. John kept him amply provided with tissues when the memories were particularly painful but, apart from an odd prompt or question to keep him going, left Paul to narrate his story. John was horrorstruck as it unfolded, though Paul kept it as emotionless as he possibly could. Somehow he plucked up the courage to tell John about the very last night...something he'd never even spoken to George about....and as he relived the humiliation and his voice began to break, John put a tissue into his hand and gently wiped a stray tear that was making it's way down Paul's cheek. By the time Paul got to the end of his life story he was drained...and so was John. How could something like this ever happen? He felt such anger at Luke and the other people who'd made Paul's life such misery. He suddenly became aware of the fact that Paul had stopped talking and was eyeing him nervously.  
"If you want me to go..."he said quietly to John.  
"Go?" John looked at him in bewilderment.   
Paul gripped his hands together, steeling himself.  
"If..if you don't want me...if you want to break it off, I understand...honest I do, John, it's...."  
John pulled Paul round to face him, cupped his face in both hands, and gave him a deep kiss. Breathlessly, John drew back and surveyed Paul, fondly shaking his head.  
"Honestly, Paul...why would I want you to go? I told you it would make no difference." He pulled Paul closer to him until they were nose to nose, chest to chest, knees to knees. "If you think I'm ever letting you go, you are out of your mind. I love you, y' daft bugger...when are you gonna realise that? I..Love..You."   
Suddenly Paul smiled and for John it was as if the world had just come to life.


	33. Run for your life!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a filler here to let you know I've not finished this yet.

When Ritchie came back from his mam's house, which had been a much longer visit than he'd intended, he was mightily relieved to find John and Paul in the kitchen, both in good humour, preparing an evening meal. A couple of glasses of beer were on the side, Paul was busy chopping onions, tears streaming down his face which he kept wiping away with an onion smelling hand, which only made the problem worse. John was busy opening a tin of tomatoes, something Paul always made a mess of because the opener didn't adapt very well for left handers.  
He nodded at them both "All well?"  
John grinned, waving the tin opener around. "All is fan-dangy-dooley, Ritch."  
"Good. Are you okay Paul?"  
Paul sniffed, rubbed his running eyes again, and nodded.  
"How's yer mam?" John enquired.  
"Oh she's good, ta. Said next time we have a Sunday off we must go round for dinner."  
"Cool! That'd be fantastic. Paul's making vegetarian pasta.....drippy nose optional."  
Paul mock glared at John and continued chopping.  
Ritchie breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe things would be a little more straight forward now, although he recalled thinking this before and having his world turn upside down. With Luke still around there was inevitably a feeling of trepidation. He shook the feeling off impatiently. There was a relaxed atmosphere between Paul and John so he could only assume that they had spoken and all was well between them. As John passed Paul the open tin of tomatoes Ritchie noticed that John casually slipped his arm around Paul's waist, and Paul turned to him, his face flushed. It was a brief, intimate moment, and Ritchie slipped out of the kitchen quietly. He went to the loo, and washed his hands, scanning his appearance in the mirror. He spoke to his reflection. "Work tomorrow, mate. Another week. Let's hope it's a good one."

Monday came and went without any problems. Ritchie and Paul were on an early shift, and it was still dark when they left the house. Ritchie couldn't help but glance warily around as they made their way to work, but he could hear Paul beside him humming quietly to himself. Ritchie smiled inwardly. He had never known someone so full of music that it seemed to spill over, as if it was impossible for Paul to contain it. He was glad that the guitar lessons Paul was giving at the record shop were doing well. In just a few weeks word had got round and the whole of each Saturday was booked up with pupils keen to learn. Although Ritchie enjoyed having Paul's company at work, and knew that quite a few of the staff had become fond of him, nonetheless Ritchie was aware that Paul was certainly capable of more than just mopping floors and doing the very basic jobs that his work entailed. He was steeling himself for the day when Paul would inevitably resign as he could earn so much more and be more fulfilled giving instrumental tuition. Ritchie glanced at the dark haired young man walking next to him. Being in a relationship with John had built up Paul's confidence, and having the support of his three friends and others around him in the work place had only served to add to this. Although Paul certainly still had days when his self-confidence plummeted, they were now much fewer. As if he felt Ritchie's eyes on him, Paul suddenly stopped humming and glanced at Ritchie with a questioning smile.  
"Okay?"  
Whoops...better come up with an excuse. "Fine. What you humming then?"  
Paul coloured slightly "Oh..just..something I was making up."  
"Making up? As in...composing?"  
Paul gave a snort of laughter. "Don't think I'd call it composing, Ritchie. Bit posh that for me."  
"You enjoying giving these lessons?"  
Paul considered before replying "Yeah. Yeah, I am. It's good, but not always easy. How you teach people, y'know. What opens a door for one person doesn't open it for another, so I'm always trying different ways in. And not everyone's a natural either, but I've always thought music should be there for everyone to enjoy and participate in at whatever level they can. S'my opinion anyway."  
Ritchie hummed an agreement. May as well ask. "Do you think you'd ever do it full time? Y'know...give up the hospital job an'that?"  
Paul looked surprised. It obviously had not crossed his mind. "Dunno. S'pect I could one day, but..I kinda like the hospital job. It doesn't demand much, I like the people I work with, and I..I feel secure there..." he looked enquiringly at Ritchie. .."..does that sound daft?"  
Ritchie shook his head. "Not at all, mate. They're all very fond of you...particularly Trevor. He's always watching out for you."  
"Mmm. He's a good guy."  
Ritchie thought fondly of his supervisor."Yep..he sure is. I expect there'd probably be chance for you to make your way up the ladder at the hospital if you wanted anyway. If you were interested, that is."  
Paul shrugged. "Dunno...sometimes I don't think I'm particularly ambitious. I just want a peaceful life, like. Just some good friends...which I've got.." he smiled at Ritchie.." ..and...well, ..and John." The last bit was said quietly. Paul's glance had transferred to the pavement in front of him. Was there a touch of insecurity there? Ritchie stepped in.  
"He thinks the world of you, y'know"  
Paul brightened, and he looked at Ritchie expectantly.  
"Really?"  
Ritchie shook his head. "You must know that, y'daft bugger."  
Paul shrugged, embarassed. "Well..I hope, y'know. But..really, he could have anyone, couldn't he. I mean..he's so good looking."  
Ritchie stopped walking he was so taken aback by Paul's comment.  
"You are joking, aren't you?"  
Paul halted, confused. "What?"  
"What you've just said. Have you looked at yourself, mate?"  
Paul looked completely flummoxed.  
Ritchie smiled. "Talking of good looking...come on, Paul, you must look in the mirror when you comb your hair at least."  
Paul, embarassed, murmured "Looks aren't everything.."  
"No..maybe not...but.."  
"They just brought me problems.." Paul interrupted quietly. "I wanted..I mean, I would hope..I .." Paul stammered, then seemed to pull himself together. "I really want people to like me for who I am, not what I look like. I really...really..want John to like me for being me, not.." he trailed off, unsure.  
Ritchie suddenly had an opening into Paul's world, a world of being desired for what he looked like, not for who he was. He patted Paul's arm encouragingly.  
"Well, far as I'm concerned, mate, y'could look like Quasimodo an' I'd still like y'...reckon John would too. Better get moving, or we're gonna be late for work. An' if you're gonna end up a consultant one day, we'd better start practicing."

Later that evening,while Paul was getting a shower, Ritchie got the chance to quiz John about the restaurant scenario and how he'd got on talking to Paul. John was only to happy to chat.  
"He's a fucker, y'know" he said, referring to Luke " I seriously think there'll be some repercussions from that..not that I've said as much to Paul 'cos I don't wanna worry him. But I don't think he'll let what happened Saturday night pass. I don't even know what state we left him in. Seriously, Ritch, I had to pull Paul off him. I thought Paul was gonna kill him. Mind you " John's face shadowed over " after what Paul told me yesterday, I'm really not surprised."  
"He did talk to you then?"  
"Practically had to wring it out of him, but..yeah, once he started he just..told me everything."  
Ritchie scanned John's face for feedback. "Not good, is it?"  
"Fucking awful, Ritch. How can things like that happen? Poor kid..he was so young as well. It must have marked him for life."  
Ritchie thought back to his conversation with Paul that morning.  
"He doesn't have a very high opinion of himself, does he? Doesn't consider himself worthy."  
John snorted. "You can say that again, mate, yet he's worth far more than most people I know. And he's so fucking talented..he's got more music in his little finger than most have in their whole body."  
"He thinks a lot of you, y'know. Told me this morning all he really wants is a peaceful life surrounded by friends, and you."  
A smile touched John's face. "After what he's been through, I'm not surprised. I think we still need to look out for him, though. I don't reckon Luke will give up that easily."  
"John?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Is it serious? Y'know...with Paul? 'Cos you told me.."  
"...I didn't want another serious relationship, I know." John mused, his eyes gazing somewhere over Ritchie's head. He seemed to talk to himself. "Paul's different, though. I won't say he's easy, 'cos he isn't. He holds a lot close to his chest, but.."John sighed " I can't imagine him not being in my world and I guess..that's what's important, innit?"  
"He's been badly hurt in his time..."  
"Yeah..I know..."  
"You wouldn't..."  
"I'm not gonna hurt him, Ritch. Don't worry. I'm really trying hard here."  
They both turned as the sound of the shower switched off. A thought suddenly crossed Ritchie's mind.  
"Have you spoken to George at all? Y'know..about Sunday night.?"  
"Fuck!" John ran a hand over his face. "No..I haven't. Didn't think."  
"Well...Paul said he was going back to George's for the next few nights...I think he feels guilty if he doesn't camp there at least half the week..."  
John snorted an amused agreement.  
"..we'd better let him know what's gone on. Does that mean you'll be staying over at George's too?"  
"Guess so, Ritch, if that's okay. Truth be told I'd rather be here, but..well..yeah, I get Paul on that. I'll text George later an' give him the low down."  
They both turned as Paul emerged from the bathroom, dark hair dripping, towel slung around him. His face lit up at seeing John.  
John stretched out his arms, wiggling his fingers teasingly "Ooh...naked chest...ticklish ribs..here I come.."  
"No..no..get off me..Ritchie, help..stay away.."  
Paul took off through the parlour, John close on his heels. Well at least, Ritchie mused, it will be quiet for a couple of nights without them both.


	34. Run for your life 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a continuation.....

It was all quiet.   
John breathed a sigh of relief.  
Ritchie empathised.  
Goerge, who'd only been informed of what had happened, tried to imagine the gravity of it all, but because Paul seemed to be acting normal he wasn't sure if he should be concerned. Although...sometimes it was when Paul acted normal that things might really be a bit wobbly. Wobbly was George's way of describing Paul's internal feelings...something Paul was extremely good at covering up. So George watched. And waited.

With Paul's decampment to George's came John...and with John came Ritchie, bearing food. It was a late night supper for all when George arrived home shortly after ten. They didn't talk about the restaurant. They didn't talk about Luke. If Paul hadn't been there, they might have, but holding such a discussion in front of Paul was definitely not on the menu. They ate, they played cards, they drank beer, and around midnight Ritchie peeled himself off the settee and looked around for his jacket. A Wednesday morning and he and Paul were on a later shift starting at twelve so George would be walking Paul to work. Paul might occasionally pull a face at being escorted but he understood their worry and accepted the escort gracefully.

There were murmured goodnights and as Paul disappeared into the loo George stopped to check that Ritchie was okay to walk him home.  
"Sure...no problem. We don't finish till eight."  
"S'okay, Ritch.." John intervened."I'm stopping here so I'll get him. You just get yourself home, okay?"  
Ritchie nodded, relieved. Both residences were in opposite directions to the hospital so it saved Ritchie a double trip. They dropped their planning as soon as Paul emerged from the loo.  
"Okay...I'll be off then. See y'tomorrow Paul."  
Paul nodded a goodbye followed by an enormous yawn. John smilingly hugged him.  
"Beddy byes for this little boy I think."  
"I'm not little..." Paul batted John playfully "I'm taller than you."  
John looked at him in genuine astonishment "Taller than me?"  
George grinned "Sorry, mate, he is. Been quietly growing there.."  
John held Paul at arms length and surveyed him.  
"I didn't give you permission to do that..."  
"S'only about half an inch.."Ritchie put in.  
John looked at Ritchie in mock anger. "Don't you go sticking up for him, mate. Half an inch is half an inch too many. Don't grow any more, okay?"  
Paul giggled "I'll try not to."  
"Good boy. Now...bed..."  
"Ow! You don't have to hit me...I'm going..back off.."  
"Mr Tickle is coming..."  
"No..no..I'll shut you out."  
George raised his eyebrows at Ritchie. "Enjoy the peace and quiet."  
Ritchie smiled knowingly. "D'you want to come and stay with me?".  
"Now there's a thought." George responded.

It was over an hour later, and all was quiet at the flat when there was a knocking at the door. George, who was sitting in bed reading, lurched up, startled. He could hear movement in Paul's room too. As he emerged from his bedroom, John stuck his head out from behind the door.  
"Who the fuck's that?" Without his glasses he was blinking rapidly. George could hear a soft murmur that was Paul's voice.   
The knock came again, more urgent. George drew his dressing gown round him an unbolted the door. Ritchie was standing there, looking pale and shaken. George opened the door wide to allow him entrance. He was shivering, though it wasn't a cold night. Shock, thought George.  
"What's up, mate?" George enquired as Ritchie entered. He noticed Ritchie glance in the direction of Paul's room before he replied, noting the tall figure of John standing there.  
"I've...I've had a..a brick put through me window.."Ritchie explained in a rather tremulous voice. Out of the corner of George's eye he saw Paul emerge from the bedroom.  
"Y'what? A brick?" John asked.  
Ritchie nodded, obviously upset and shaken. George steered him in the direction of the kitchen.  
"Come on..let's put the kettle on an' tell me what happened."  
Tears began to pool in Ritchie's eyes. "I..I dunno what happened. It was like it when I got home."  
"Anyone around?"  
"No..no one"  
George sensed Paul moving closer in.  
"Have y'rung the police?" John asked. Ritchie shook his head.   
His first thought had been to flee back here because here was where John was and John represented security. Also he'd not rung the police because.......  
He turned his head and his eyes connected with Paul's...and in Paul's he could see concern and worry and...guilt? Paul started chewing his lip, and his glance dropped. He shuffled back to stand behind John. John followed Paul's movement, intercepted Ritchie's gaze, and the penny dropped.  
"I bet it's that fucking Luke.." John exploded. He didn't see Paul wince at the use of his ex's name.  
George moved in swiftly to smooth things over, knowing that it would worry Paul.  
"We don't know that, John...it could just be vandalism. Anyway..far more important now...Ritchie, coat off, come on. Have a coffee, and we'll contact the police."  
George didn't want John jumping to conclusions....and he certainly didn't want Paul panicking. John sensed he was being brushed off, but was astute enough to realise why. He turned to talk to Paul, only to discover that he'd slipped quietly back into his room. He followed him, and could see him sitting, legs drawn up to his chest, on the camp bed.  
"Paul?"  
He heard a drawn breath. "S'my fault."  
John sat by him and tried to pull him into his arms, but was met with resistance.   
"It's not your fault, Paul. Just..get that out of your head" John was exasperated.   
"It is." Paul's voice was quiet, determined. "It'll be revenge, because I...because I..." He turned to John. Suddenly his voice was emotionless. "He won't give up, y'know. He'll make everybody's life a misery. You don't know him like I do..he has..connections.."  
Hmm. John recalled hearing Luke describe Dean as having connections. It seemed a rather popular word in their circle.  
"What kind of connections?" John's voice came out harsher than he intended, but Paul never flinched. John could sense Paul's withdrawal taking place.  
"What kind, Paul? Who with?" John tried to chase him before he closed down.  
Paul shrugged. Gone! Shit! John could have kicked something in his anger, but he didn't want to frighten Paul. He turned and went back into the living room to George and Ritchie, who were sitting in the kitchen with mugs of coffee. George's dark eyes held a question as he looked at John.  
"Is Paul okay?" Ritchie asked innocently.  
John gripped his hands hard. "He's blaming himself"  
"Why?" Ritchie's eyes widened. "We don't know..."  
"It probably is, Ritchie..."George cut in quietly. "It sounds like the kind of thing Luke would do. Well...not do himself..get someone to do it for him."  
"So..."Ritchie wavered.."do I call the police or not?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, you should "George nodded encouragingly. "At least you'll get some money back on your house insurance to get your window fixed."   
House insurance? George? Material things? Ritchie was momentarily surprised.  
"Yeah, guess you're right. I'll have to try and get it fixed tomorrow..or at least boarded...."  
"I can do that" John said swiftly. "D'you want me to come back with you tonight and fix it?" John saw the relieved look that crossed Ritchie's face, and nodded. He looked at George.  
"Reckon you're good to see Paul to work then?"  
George took a sip of his coffee before replying "Yeah...not a problem, mate. Twelve o'clock start, innit?"  
John turned back into Paul's small room and in the dark began pulling on the clothes he'd taken off not much more than an hour ago. He could see a Paul shaped lump under the blankets, back turned to the door. Once dressed he leaned over him, trying to scan his face. He could see a glitter of eyes in the darkness. Paul was not asleep.  
"Paul?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Paul...I'm going back with Ritchie, fix the window an' make sure he's okay."  
He saw Paul nod. He placed his hand on the tallest hump...Paul's bottom, he reckoned.  
"You be okay?"  
Another nod.  
"George said he'll take you..."  
"I said I'll be okay, John" Paul cut in. John backed off, and nodded.  
"Okay...okay. Just..take care, y'know? I don't wanna lose you"  
Paul shifted in the bed, turning to face John. A smile curled his lips.  
"I'm not that easy to get rid of, y'know."  
John bent down and tenderly touched his lips to Paul's.  
"I know."

Paul was certainly more withdrawn the following morning. George insisted on cooking him a late breakfast, insisted on him eating it all before they left, insisted he walk him right to the staff entrance door of the hospital. Paul gave a sigh of relief as he waved goodbye to John and went in search of Ritchie. Inside Paul's stomach was churning, and it wasn't the result of George's breakfast either. No matter how he tried to squash the worries down, they kept surfacing. Unthinkingly he gnawed at the middle finger of his right hand, chewing the overhanging skin. Ah! there was Ritchie. Paul made his way swiftly to Ritchie's side.  
"Okay?" he really needed to know that Ritchie was okay.  
Ritchie patted him reassuringly on his arm. "Fine, Paul. All's good. John's boarded the window up and the glazier is coming on Saturday."  
"Has it done much damage? Can I give you something towards it?"  
"No, no....don't worry. The only damage is the window itself. George walk you here okay then?"  
Paul nodded, "Yeah..fine."  
"Good" Ritchie suddenly looked serious "Y'know, Paul...I think maybe you oughta stop with George for a bit...if it is to do with Luke, that is, 'cos that's the address they think you're at. Makes sense."  
Paul chewed his lip, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I get it"  
Ritchie smiled. "Don't want anything happening to you, do we."  
Paul gave a wry smile.

Trevor looked at Jack in concern.  
"He asked what?"  
"He asked if we had a Paul McCartney working here."  
"An' what did you say?"  
"I said it wasn't my place to answer questions like that, an' who was it wanted to know. He just sorta smirked an' disappeared."  
"What'd he look like Jack?"  
"Young fella in an' hoodie...looks like any teenager."  
"Okay...ta for telling me. You did the right thing. I'll have a word with the other supervisors to warn their lot too."  
Trevor sighed, and shifted on his swing chair. He drew out the work rota for Thursday. Ritchie and Paul were on at twelve again. His hand hovered over the phone to contact security, then he withdrew it once more. He reckoned first he'd chat to Ritchie. He ran his thumb over the handwritten rota, considering. It was now the end of April, and Paul had been working there for almost four months. He certainly had no complaints about the lad's work. He was reliable and punctual. He'd slotted in easily and was well-liked by the rest of the staff, most of whom were much older than Paul. He was pleasant and polite, nicely spoken, not rough. But something didn't quite sit right for Trevor...there was something in his background. Ritchie was extremely protective of him and wasn't saying. Most of the time Paul didn't occupy Trevor's mind, but occasionally, like now, a little reminder would surface, would ruffle the tranquility.....an uncertainty...a problem...  
"Hullo Trevor."  
Trevor looked up and smiled at Howard. Everyone loved Howard. A sandwich short of a picnic, Trevor's mum would say. Sixpence short of a bob. Many unintended cruel jests. But Howard had his very simple job here at the hospital. He'd been here for years, and everyone knew him. His big grin, his unfailing good humour. He'd arrive with cake and biscuits sent in by his elderly mother for the staff who'd been kind enough to give her son a job that he could manage, even if it was only washing the slop cans out.  
"Hello Howard. How are you today."  
"I'm very well. Me mum said have a cake..." from out of a canvas bag he produced a wrapped up oblong object " it's my favourite " his hands were big, sometimes uncoordinated   
"..it's a madeira.."  
"Ooh, lovely.."  
His grin got bigger.."with raspberry jam."  
"Well, we'll have some later, eh? With a cuppa?"  
Howard gave enormous nods. Then he looked serious.  
"Somebody asked me something."  
Shit. Why did Trevor's heart suddenly plummet like that.  
"A man standing outside asked me if we had a Paul McCartney working here"...no,no,no..."and I said yes I think so."  
Howard watched in concern as Trevor shut his eyes in despair.  
"Did I do right?"  
Trevor paused to clear his throat. "Actually, Howard, it is nobody's business who works here. That's security.."  
He could see Howard trying desperately to follow his explanation. Trevor stopped, and smiled. "Howard, if you get asked anything like that just refer them to me. Let me do the talking."  
Howard's smile resumed, and he nodded. "Paul likes my mum's cake."  
Trevor nodded. "I'm sure he does. Now, better get to work, hadn't we?"  
Howard nodded, and obediently disappeared. Trevor gave a sigh, and picked up the phone. He dialled an internal number.  
"Can I have Greg please on security.?"


	35. Run for your life 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protecting Paul

Greg eyed Trevor with concern, and scratched his head in puzzlement.  
"So...let's get this straight. Put in a nutshell you want me to look out for one of the staff but you can't tell me what the danger is or why I'm looking out for him. Am I right?"  
Trevor gave a sheepish grin, and mentally berated himself for calling Greg when it was pretty obvious that it was a flimsy, if real, danger being brought to his attention.  
"Yeah...I know. Sorry."  
"Hmm" Greg glanced at his watch and thought rapidly. "I've gotta get back upstairs in a sec. Can you give me a bit more detail on this."  
Trevor heaved a sigh. "I've got this young lad working here...Paul, his name is. Nice kid. No family. At some point in his life he's had involvement with some dodgy characters. He's not been in trouble himself, but he was somehow involved with them. How, I don't know. I understand that's about eighteen months ago. Now they've got wind of him again and seem to be trying to ..get him. He's been staying on and off with our Ritchie..you know.." Greg nodded. Everyone knew, and liked, Ritchie, which meant Greg therefore payed closer attention to the story."...so...they seem to have tracked Paul down. Ritchie's had a brick put through his window Tuesday night. Now today someone has been outside the staff entrance asking if we have a Paul working here. A couple who were asked brushed it off, but I'm afraid our Howard has just let it slip. I dunno what I'm asking for, really...just thinking someone might try and get into the hospital that has no right to be here and try and get our Paul. Dunno what to do, to be honest."  
"Hmm. And have you told Paul and Ritchie this yet?"  
Trevor shook his head. "They're not due in till twelve. I'll catch them then."  
"Right." Greg glanced at his watch again. "At twelve, when they arrive, I want to have a word with Paul."  
Trevor drew a sharp breath, and Greg looked at him.  
"What's the matter?"  
"He's, er, not very up front when it comes to talking about himself."  
Greg shook his head. "Well, if I'm gonna help him I need to know what I'm up against. Send him up to me. You don't have to say why. I'll deal with that. Tell Ritchie, if you want, but leave Paul to me. In the meantime, I'll just tell security to be on extra alert for any suspicious characters. Right. Gotta get back. So remember...Paul to me soon as he arrives."  
Trevor nodded.

Trevor was watching out for their arrival. He could hear Ritchie chattering away. By their conversation it sounded as if they'd arrived separately. He puzzled over that for a moment, then dismissed it as not being any of his business. He popped his head out of the door.  
"Morning lads...all well?"  
He received cheery replies. Good, he thought, no problems yet then.  
"Paul, I want you to pop straight upstairs to the security room. Greg is expecting you." Trevor made the announcement as if it was an everyday occurrence and nothing to worry about, but he couldn't help but notice the flash of alarm that crossed Paul's face. Ritchie, too, paused in the motion of hanging up his coat. He noticed them exchange glances.  
"What's that for, then?" Ritchie enquired. Paul had paused, waiting for a reply to Ritchie's question.  
Trevor withdrew back into his room and they heard a muffled "Dunno. 'Spose Paul'll tell y' when he gets back."  
There was worry in those dark eyes. Ritchie gave him a cheery smile.  
"Well...better do as the boss says, son. I'll see y' for lunch about three."

Paul had only ever been up into this part of the hospital a couple of times when taking mail that had arrived. He nodded to a few people that recognised him, but inside his heart was hammering. In fact, he was really nervous. Was he about to lose his job? No, no, don't be silly, he scolded himself. It's not security's place to hire and fire. He halted, dallying, outside the door, his feet doing a little shuffle dance while he plucked up the courage to knock. Before he could do so, the door was suddenly flung open and he was barged into by one of the burly security men who nearly knocked him flying.  
"Whoops, sorry there, mate. Didn't notice you..y'okay? Paul, innit?" The guy peered closer at Paul's face to establish identity. Paul nodded.  
"Ah, right. Reckon Greg is expecting you. Got the hospital in a bit of a tizzy, I think."  
Bit of a tizzy? Paul paused. His heartbeat got even faster. The security guy held the door open for him but Paul's feet wouldn't obey the command to move. It was as if they had taken root. He could feel the security man staring at him strangely. "Hey..you okay?"  
Paul could only nod again. Shit. Now his voice had disappeared too. Greg suddenly appeared from out of his office and took the situation in with one fell swoop.  
"Paul? Paul, isn't it. Come on..."he held his own door open. Paul never knew how he got his feet to move but he felt as if every eye in the security room was on him as he walked across the floor to the open door of Greg's room. Greg indicated a comfy chair. He could feel waves of panic emanating from the seated figure.  
"Want a drink? Tea? Coffee?"  
Paul shook his head. Crap. His voice really had disappeared. He gave a little cough just to ensure it did still work. Greg sat down in his chair and glanced at Paul from under his eyelids, trying to take in the character of the young man in front of him. He'd always been told he was good at summing people up, and that was probably why he'd succeeded in achieving his position as Head of Security. His workmates found him firm but just, and always in control of his emotions and able to sort out problems from the biggest to the smallest. As he surveyed Paul he wondered what this problem was likely to turn out to be..big or small? Paul gave another tentative little cough and squirmed slightly, aware he was being observed.  
Greg leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "So, Paul..."  
Paul's eyes darted upwards at his name, then skittered to various corners of the room. Nerves, Greg registered. Move carefully.  
"...I understand from Trevor that someone has been standing outside the staff entrance today asking workers coming in if we have a Paul McCartney working here.." he noticed Paul's eyes widen in alarm..."..do you have any idea why this might be?"  
Although Greg remained impassionate, Paul's reaction had already told him quite a lot. The lad had definitely gone paler too.  
Paul shook his head. He didn't trust his voice to speak. Greg nodded. He was going to have to apply gentle pressure here.  
"Are you in trouble of any kind?"  
Paul shook his head again. Greg gave a twisted smile.  
"You can talk to me, y'know."  
Paul swallowed before replying "No". His voice came out sounding strangled, so he cleared his throat and tried again "No..I'm not..in trouble, that is."  
Hmm. Softly spoken. A Liverpool accent but not very pronounced.  
Greg leaned across his desk nearer to Paul.  
"Trevor seems to think you may have had dealings in the past with some people who are a bit dodgy, and who are trying to make contact again. Does that sound plausible?"  
Paul was taken aback. He didn't know that Trevor had any idea about his past. And if he did, who could have told him other than Ritchie? Ritchie? Paul felt exposed, as if someone had just stripped him of all his armaments.  
"Paul, if there's a threat to your well being we need to know about it. Do you think it's likely someone could be after you? You can tell me, you know. You don't have to tell me why."  
Paul wrapped his hands together to stop them from shaking. He didn't like feeling exposed like this. He wanted his privacy.  
"Do you think there's a threat?"  
His voice had gone again. He couldn't respond even if he'd wanted to. Greg leaned back in his chair.  
"Right. So far I've warned all security to be extra vigilant...to check bags of people coming in, to vet most visitors, but this is a big hospital. We have hundreds arriving every day...for treatment, to visit, to outpatients. No matter how vigilant we are hospitals are open doors to anyone wanting to enter. I don't want any staff getting hurt, and I especially don't want you getting hurt. What are we looking for? What kind of threat are we facing? Can you enlighten me?"  
Paul kneaded his fingers, thinking. Greg thought he was not going to reply when Paul suddenly said "I..I think the only threat would be to me..I don't think they'd want to cause a rumpus. They'd probably just try to take me.."  
Phew. An answer at last.  
"Are you sure of that?"  
Paul nodded.  
"Okay. That helps me phenomenally. So..we just need to set a guard round you. Now that we can do. I'll talk to Trevor and for the next few days at least we'll have you somewhere where you can be watched and be secure. How does that sound?"  
Relieved that a conclusion seemed to have been reached, Paul nodded again.  
"Okay. Right. I'm just going to ring down to Trevor." Greg got up and strode to his door. Putting his head out, he hailed one of the security men who was just having a coffee break. "Lee...when you've finished your coffee, take this young man back down to Trevor, will you? And don't let him out of your sight. He's a security risk" Greg was laughing as he said this, and it was taken in jest by the guard spoken to as well, but underneath Greg was concerned. He just wasn't gonna let Paul know that.

"Trevor?"  
Trevor recognised the voice on the phone "Yeah?"  
"That young man...put him somewhere for the next couple of weeks where we can watch him...don't have him moving around."  
"You think there is a threat then?"  
"Yes, I do. He's not saying much but I reckon it's shaken him, and that's enough for me. When you've decided where he's gonna be, let me know."  
"Will do. Okay...thanks for that."  
"How well do you know him?"  
Trevor considered. "I could say I know him well, but if I thought about it, not very much really. He doesn't tell you much."  
"Nice lad? He seems it."  
"Yeah, he is. No problems there. Just..very private."  
"Hmm. Wonder why?"  
"Dunno. If I've ever tried to raise anything with Ritchie it's squashed immediately. Summat's gone on, that's for sure, but no one's saying anything."  
"That's what I picked up. Okay...we'll keep an eye on him. Remember, let me know where he's gonna be."  
"Yup...will do. Tarrah fer now."  
"Bye."  
Trevor mused. Where to put Paul. Somewhere safe. Somewhere near security.  
"Everything okay?"  
Trevor looked up to see Ritchie with a puzzled smile on his face. Trevor shook his head, and explained to Ritchie what had happened. He could see Ritchie was worried.  
"Just wondering where I can stick him for a week...and where I'm not gonna miss him."  
"Er..hello?" It was Paul. If he'd caught the end of Trevor's sentence he gave no sign. "Just wondering where to go."  
"I'm just thinking, Paul. Definitely not near outpatients or anywhere where there's a lot of coming and going."  
"What about putting him on the Men's Ward?"  
"I could do Ritchie but it's not a particularly full-time job on that. Now...what about the post-surgery? That could be a good one. Right, Paul....go and hang out with Norman that usually does that job...he's been doing it for years. Tell him I've sent you for a bit extra help and to learn the ropes, and I reckon between Jack and Ritchie we should just about be able to cover your duties. Okay?"  
Paul nodded.  
When Paul had gone, Trevor looked closely at Ritchie.  
"Our Ritch, is this serious?"  
Ritchie heaved a sigh. "I think it could be, Trevor. I mean...guys asking if he works here? What they planning?"  
"Thought you might answer that."  
"I reckon they're hoping to nab him."  
"Well, if they try anything they're gonna have to get past Greg's boys first. How's he get to work?" Let's be a bit nosy " Still walk with you?"  
Ritchie shook his head. "After Tuesday night we reckoned he'd be safer staying at George's, so George is walking him to work."  
"What a palaver, eh? They must want him for something." Probe, probe.  
Ritchie knew what Trevor was after. He looked him straight in the eye as he said "A very jealous ex-boyfriend I think."  
"That all?" Trevor was surprised.  
"Yeah...except this ex was involved in rather shady dealings that Paul knows about. Not only does he want Paul back, he wants him back where he can see him."  
Trevor digested this information. After a pause, he looked at Ritchie and said "Drugs?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Aye, that and a few other things."  
Satisfied that he'd probably extracted as much information as he could for now, Trevor smiled at Ritchie.  
"We'll do our best to keep him safe, don't worry."

Don't worry. Don't worry. John was going out of his mind with worry. He couldn't concentrate at work. Every moment he spent away from Paul he was worried. Imagining lots of different scenarios, each one more upsetting than the last. If he could he would meet Paul from work, standing as close to the porters' entrance as it was possible to get, glaring suspiciously at anyone he didn't recognise. The relief when Paul would emerge at the end of the day was overwhelming...just to see his face. It took all of John's willpower not to sweep Paul into his arms. Saturday Paul taught as usual, and John was on guard. Sunday he could have Paul all to himself...a lazy morning in bed, a leisurely lunch, fun making music together. John didn't want Monday to come. On a Monday 'they' knew where Paul was. John felt so helpless, despite knowing the hospital had put measures to protect Paul in place. Two weeks passed, the weather warmed into a soft May, and nothing had happened. Although Paul continued to help Norman sometimes on the post-surgery, he also went back to his usual jobs. Slowly security relaxed. Paul remained living at George's though, because they were not yet that confident, which meant the little flat was very cramped as John would also be there, and not to be left out so would Ritchie half the time. Ritchie's window was repaired, and he spotted no more black cars, no more guys in hoodies, and no more questions were asked at the staff entrance of the hospital. 

"I could come back to yours tomorrow?" Paul suggested as they snuggled together on his camp bed. John teasingly ran his finger down the centre of Paul's chest, making his breath hitch. Paul caught John's finger, and gently kissed it. Next moment John pushed him down against the bedcovers, running his free hand up Paul's thigh. Paul couldn't help the needy moan that escaped his lips. John's mouth curved in a teasing smile.  
"Why's that, then, eh? More room in bed?"  
"Could be."  
John examined the face that lay beneath him. It never mattered how often he looked at Paul, he never got over the thrill of having this vision of perfection belong to him.  
Paul squirmed under the scrutiny.  
"John!" he wriggled, blushing under the intense gaze.  
"What's up?"  
"Don't look at me like that."  
"Like what?"  
"Like I'm your dinner or something...it's embarrassing."  
"Ooh..little Paulie getting embarrassed."  
Paul wriggled again, then stopped immediately John touched his hardening member. John felt him melt instantly. He smiled inwardly. Always ready for sex, this one. Sorry, no..not sex...Paul says it's 'making love'. John paused to examine the flushed face beneath him again, the tousled dark hair, wide eyes and parted lips that held a hint of desire, and he lowered his head and kissed him. Paul gripped his fingers into the auburn hair, delighting in the smell and feel of John. With him there Paul didn't, couldn't, worry about anything.

Don't relax. Never relax. That's when things happen.  
They came through from the outpatients. Two young guys wearing t-shirts, looking quite innocent. Wife here for ante-natal, one said. Looking for the loo, must have lost our way, said another when questioned. Got a mate works here, said one innocently, he's called Paul...think he's a porter...oh, the loos that way? Ta very much.  
Paul was near an exit when they jumped him, obviously hoping with the car park in the near vicinity they could get him out quickly. Taken by surprise nonetheless Paul reacted swiftly, flooring one with a blow to his jaw, and slamming the other one against the wall. The security guard ran to the scene, but they'd gone. Stunned outpatients sat, mouths agape, at the tussle that had just taken place .....the whole scenario had lasted barely a minute. Alerted by security, Greg arrived on the scene and took Paul's arm, ushering him away from curious eyes. He swept the slight figure in to an empty room, and pressed him down onto a chair.  
"Are you okay?"  
Paul appeared unhurt and had dealt with the two guys on his own, but the shock was delayed. Ritchie, sent for, appeared at his side.  
"Paul?"  
Paul looked at Ritchie from blank dark eyes.  
"Well done you. Maybe you should work for security, eh?"  
Paul's gaze remained fixed on Ritchie's face as if trying to ground himself.  
Greg gripped Ritchie's arm.  
"Reckon he's in shock. Bastards. Bided their time there haven't they. When d'you finish?"  
"In about an hour."  
"Okay...I'm gonna take Paul to the canteen and get him a cuppa, and I'll meet you in Trevor's office at five. Are you gonna be alright getting home? D'you want me to get a taxi?"  
Ritchie looked down at Paul's stationary figure.  
"Might be an idea."  
"Anyone else to contact?"  
"I'll text John..." Greg raised an eyebrow questioningly .." his boyfriend " Ritchie added. Greg nodded.  
Greg put his arm under Paul's elbow and propelled him to his feet.  
"Come on, son, let's go get a drink. Tell y'what, though, Paul, if you can floor two guys like that single-handed, maybe you oughtta be working for me."  
A ghost of a smile touched Paul's lips as Greg steered him towards the staff canteen.


	36. Run for your life 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protecting Paul

"What?"  
"How?"  
"I thought they were supposed to be protecting him?"  
"I don't care if it's been over two weeks....."  
"That's beside the point Ritch.."  
"Yeah..yeah I know that. I'm not stupid."  
"Well how did they?..."  
"The fuckers! Is he okay?"  
"Yeah, I bet he is."  
"A taxi? Where..."  
"Okay...you'll be okay?"  
"Does George know?"  
"Make sure no-one's following."  
"Yeah..yeah, sure. Okay. Bye."  
John switched his phone off and glared at the unsuspecting customer. The guy in a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt quickly replaced the L.P. he'd been looking at and exited the shop.  
John slammed his fist against the counter in anger.  
"Fucking fucking fucking fuckers. Wish I'd been there. I'd have bloody murdered 'em."  
A smile touched his face as he recalled Ritchie's story of Paul managing to see them both off. A chuckle escaped his lips.  
"Good for you, Paul. Didn't know you had it in you, kid."

"Ritchie, taxi's here."  
Paul and Ritchie looked up from their seats in Trevor's office where, like a mother cat protecting her kittens, he'd stuck both of them until the taxi arrived.  
"Cheers, Trev. Okay Paulie, let's get home."  
"Tomorrow...both of you, just...come in to me first, okay? Me and Greg are gonna get our head's together. Been thinking anyway...Norman is heading to retirement in another year or so. Might be an idea to start putting Paul over there so we've got at least one trained up on post-op."  
Trevor escorted them both to the waiting taxi, reluctant to relinquish them until he knew the coast was clear. Although the atmosphere was calm, nonetheless it had shaken Greg and the rest of security to have such an incident occur within hospital terrain. Greg kept muttering under his breath about police. Trevor could well understand why, but reckoned he'd not get far with young Paul on that score.

The whole story had to be told again to George. At least, Ritchie told the story...Paul slipped off to his room for a little peace and quiet. Eventually George waved Ritchie off as he needed to go home...staying at George's all the time just wasn't practical and also Ritchie felt it was giving in to the whole situation if he didn't defend his own corner.  
George made a mug of tea for Paul and after tapping on his door, which was already ajar, entered. Paul was sitting on his bed, halfway through changing. He'd dumped his jeans on the floor and was sitting in just t-shirt and boxers, his long legs drawn up to his chest, feet crossed at the ankles. He was miles away, dark eyes fixed on a space in front of him. George groaned inwardly. Paul had been doing so well. He didn't want to go through all the angst again.  
"Paul? Tea."  
"Hmm? Oh, ta." He was somewhere on another planet. George was determined to pull him back. Without requesting permission, he shoved Paul over on the bed and sat down on the edge of it, still clutching the drink. Paul shifted across slightly, maintaining his position of crossed legs, keeping that invisible space around him.  
"Ritchie says you saw them both off single-handed."  
Paul nodded, eyes still firmly in front.  
"Well...that's good, innit, that you could do that. John'd be proud of you."  
No response.  
"So...you're probably gonna be working on post-op then too? Is it interesting?"  
Paul nodded at the space in front of him.   
George moved round a bit, seeking more space.  
"So...is John coming tonight?"  
A stupid question. If Paul was here, John would be here. George heard a soft sigh, and finally Paul turned to look at him.  
"I know what you're doing George."  
George bit his tongue. He didn't want to argue with Paul.  
"What am I doing, Paul? Tell me?"  
Paul's eyes were very intense, burning into George.  
"You're trying to stop me thinking."  
Spot on. "And why am I trying to stop you thinking, Paul?"  
Paul held George's eyes for what seemed like an aeon of time, then flicked them back to the space in front of him.   
"Might it be because I don't want to lose my best friend to depression again? Hmm? You thought that?"  
Paul's reply was soft, under his breath. "I'm not depressed."  
"No, but you're acting as if you're heading that way. I want to help, Paul. Christ knows, you've now got a bellyful of friends and a boyfriend to die for. Don't...just, don't let yourself get dragged down again."  
It was dim in that room with no light but George could see a single stray tear make it's way down Paul's pale cheek, dripping off the side of his jaw.  
"Paul?" George uttered, concerned.  
"I don't want others getting hurt" the words were torn from Paul as if caught in his throat.  
"Why should others get hurt, hmm?"  
"Ritchie's already had a brick through his window..."  
"Yeah..and we've dealt with it. What else?"  
"What if next time it's worse? What if next time they do something more...dangerous.."  
"Like?"  
"Like a burning rag through the door."  
Shit. Was this the kind of thoughts running through Paul's mind at the moment?  
"Paul, why would..."  
"Maybe I should just go back to him."  
"Paul!" George was horrified, "What the fuck?"  
Paul turned to face George, his face a mask devoid of emotion.  
"I know him. And I know how he works. He won't give up George. And I don't..."the mask crumbled slightly, and Paul fought furiously to rebuild it " I don't want any of you getting hurt. I'd never forgive myself."   
George realised he was still clutching the mug of tea. He swiftly put it down on the floor and drew Paul into his arms. Paul was reluctant at first, then finally relaxed onto George's shoulder. George rubbed his back comfortingly.  
"Listen to me, McCartney. You are not going back to Luke. Not ever. I won't let you, John won't, Ritchie won't, and I bet there's another load of people who won't too if they knew the situation." George buried his nose in Paul's thick dark hair, relishing the smell of coconut that always seemed to linger. The memories for George as he held on to Paul were all too real. They clung to one another each caught up in their own personal trauma.

"I want to get him away from it all...y'know, do something mad. Take him to France to live, or summat." John took a sip of his tea and looked across at Rob. He felt no guilt at having told Paul's story to his boss. Christ knows he needed someone to talk to.  
"Would he go with you? Would Paul go just..anywhere?" Rob asked.  
John shrugged. "I don't think he would. He has George and..well, he owes George a huge debt really for having given him a home and having seen him back from hell. D'you know.." John looked closely at Rob "George said Paul didn't speak for ages when he first turned up...said he was like a zombie. It was months before he told George what had happened."  
"Y'know" Rob fiddled with the records in the rack in front of him "That Luke could be charged with sexual exploitation.."  
Rob jumped out of the way as John snorted a spray of tea from his nose in angry laughter.  
"Charged? Luke? One...you'd have to pin him down and over the months I've got to know of him, and see him, one thing is clear...he's protected by layers and layers of people, all who'd have to be knocked out first. An' the other is...Paul. He's not gonna say what happened. Nothing on earth would persuade him to stand up in a court full of strangers and recount his experiences."  
"So Luke gets away with it then? That what you're saying?"  
John swirled the remnants of his tea round in the mug. "I'm not saying that. I'm thinking we should fight fire with fire."  
Rob shifted uncomfortably. "Go outside the law, you mean? I dunno, John, that's..."  
"That's what he's doing."  
Rob shook his head. "Don't, John. Whatever you do, don't do that. You won't win. Like you said, he's protected by layers of people. You aren't."  
John considered.  
"On top of which " Rob pressed on " Think of Paul. If anything happened to you..well, he'd end up feeling even more guilty."  
"So..what do I do then? What can I do?" John's amber eyes were full of anguish. Rob felt for him.  
"Leave it to the law, and just look after him as best you can. You've been doing a great job. And it sounds to me as if he's doing a fine job himself too."

John couldn't help but notice Paul was much quieter over the next few days. Everyone involved with him noticed. It wasn't that Paul didn't try...Christ knows, he was trying really hard. But inside it was like a lead weight dragging him down. He felt an inevitability. Luke was persistent. Luke was possessive. Luke didn't like it that he'd escaped. Thoughts of his ex filled his mind, even when he and John made love. John felt that withdrawal. One night, after making a few moves on Paul that were not reciprocated, John leaned back and surveyed his partner.  
"Paul?"  
Paul started. A guilty flush crept up his neck.  
"You're not with me, are you?" John queried softly.   
Paul sighed.."I'm sorry...really, it's just..."  
John placed his finger over Paul's lips.  
"Ssh...doesn't matter. I get the feeling someone else is sharing our bed. Am I right?"  
Paul nodded. "I can't stop thinking about him. I don't want to, it's just..."he turned to face John fully "I'm really worried, John."  
There. It was out. He'd said it. Everyone knew he was worried anyway, but to actually say it out loud was almost an exorcism for Paul.  
John ran his hands up and down Paul's arms.  
"I know you are, love. We all are. We've just got to try and keep you safe."  
Paul snuggled in closer to John, needing comfort rather than sex at this moment in time. John felt the nubile body within his arms, and his resolve strengthened. If it meant his own life, he would keep Luke from ever touching Paul again.

"Birthday?" Paul's lips curved into a smile. "What d'you know about my birthday?"  
"I know it's in a couple of weeks mate on the eighteenth of June 'cos George told me."  
"Oh." Paul stopped, unsure.  
"So. What are we gonna do for your birthday and what would you like?"  
Paul considered. Memories of his encounter with Luke at the restaurant prevented him from considering repeating going out for a meal. June. The sun getting warmer. A sluice of memories rushed back. Walking hand in hand with his mum in Calderstones Park. Having an ice cream. Watching the ducks. Was the lake still there? It had been so long since he'd been. John watched a kaleidescope of emotions cross Paul's face. Suddenly Paul gave a big smile.  
"I want to go to Calderstones Park and have an ice cream " he announced.  
John shook his head, bemused. "Twenty two years old and you want to celebrate with an ice-cream in the park?"  
Paul slipped his arms round John's waist." As long as you're with me, that's all I want."  
John drew him closer, feeling his warmth. He was sure a few months ago he could rest his chin on top of Paul's head. He tutted to himself. Paul was right...he had the added advantage of an extra half inch over John now. So instead John drew him in and they rested forehead to forehead staring into each other's eyes.  
"Come expensive, you do" murmured John. "I bet you'll want a double cornet too"  
"Triple"  
"Triple?"  
"And a cup of tea after."  
"And a cup of tea after, he says. Well, well, Macca. Better save up then, hadn't I."

 

Thursdays were always quiet at the shop, as if people were taking a deep breath before the weekend. Thursday John often locked up just before five, knowing there was very little chance of anyone else arriving. He'd just taken his mug through to the back kitchen and checked that the window was closed in Paul's teaching room before grabbing his leather jacket when he heard the bell ping. Cursing under his breath, he entered the shop, and stopped in shock. Dean. They'd not seen each other since January. In fact, he'd totally slipped John's mind. Dean looked pale and slightly nervous, but stood his ground. Immaculately dressed as always, carrying his suit jacket over his arm. He ran a hand over his smooth blonde hair, a habit that John instantly recalled him having. John looked at him and waited. Dean tried for a smile that didn't quite make it.  
"Hello John."  
"What d'you want?" John could bark when he liked, and chose to do so now.  
Dean shifted, awkward. "I..I shouldn't be here...." He glanced over his shoulder as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.  
"Well go then" John said bluntly.   
Dean turned back. "No, I..I wanted to warn you..."  
A chill struck John. "Warn me of what?" His voice gave no encouragement.  
Dean moved closer, licking his lips nervously. "Pull back, John, and let Luke have Paul back."  
"Did he send you?" John was having none of it.  
Dean shook his head. "No. I just wanted to warn you. He won't give up, you know, and someone might get hurt. I didn't want it to be you."  
"Oh? And why is that?"  
"John.." Dean tried cajoling. "We...we were good friends..lovers.." he amended " for a while. I wanted to warn you...You can't win against him. He has connections."  
God. That fucking word again. Bloody connections.  
"If you mean he's got a bunch of minions that'll just do his bidding, yeah, I already know that."  
Dean dropped the pretence. "Just let him have Paul. Then you can all get on with your lives."  
"No."  
Dean huffed a bit, then sneered. "Like him sucking your dick, do you?"  
"Get out!"  
"Don't say I didn't warn you" Dean started to move back towards the door. John emerged from behind the counter.  
"He's not yours. He was never yours."  
"Get out!"  
"Don't blame me if something happens. I tried to tell you..." Dean struggled with the latch, and finally managing it threw a last word at John " If Luke can't have him, no one will."  
The door slammed to. John was incandescent with rage. Then a slow panic began to creep over him. If Luke can't have him, no one will...if Luke can't have him, no one will...  
John strode into the back room, collected the keys, and with shaking fingers locked up the shop.


	37. I'm looking through you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Encounters....

"If Luke can't have him, no-one will, if Luke can't have him, no-one will....." Dean's parting words beat a tattoo in John's head as he locked the shop. He caught the bus at the end of the road. It was as if his body was performing every day actions while his brain was elsewhere. "If Luke can't have him, no-one will..." round and round in his head. Someone spoke to him but he just nodded an acknowledgment, not really listening. Each time the bus halted to pick up passengers John went into panic mode, then would subside again once the vehicle was moving once more. He was so restless he'd half a mind to leap off the bus and run to George's flat, but the logical part of his brain told him that would take even longer.  
Finally, finally, he was getting off the stop near to George's. By now his fertile imagination had drawn a myriad of situations, each one more devastating than the last, therefore to have the flat door in front of him looking quite normal made him draw breath. No sense in panicking Paul. He might share Dean's visit with Ritchie, and maybe with George, but no sense in making Paul any more jittery.  
He was warm in the early June sunshine and slipped his jacket off before knocking on the door, their signal the ostinato from Dr. Who. He was early, and knew Paul wouldn't be expecting him yet. Next moment the door was flung open and Paul was in front of him, face flushed and hair damp, and a swirl of steam exited the doorway. Paul's face lit up at the sight of John. John had long ago decided that his one dying wish would be to have that vision in front of him as he passed from this life to the next. John grinned back, momentarily speechless, partly with relief that Paul was okay, partly because Paul often had that effect on him.  
"Hi...you're early. I'm cooking!"  
Paul's pronouncement wasn't really necessary due to the amount of heat and scintillating smells that emanated from the flat. Paul opened the door wider for John to enter and swiftly returned to the cooker. "I'm making a veggie stir fry with some spaghetti tossed in pesto" he informed John over his shoulder. John drank in the sight of his wooden spoon waving cullinary boyfriend, and a surge of white hot desire burned within him.   
John strode into the kitchen and slipped his arms around Paul's waist, nibbling at the back of his neck where the hair was damp.  
"Mmm...John!" Paul squirmed, then turned into John's arms. John ravished his lips with a demanding kiss. Next moment there was a hiss as the pasta boiled over.  
"Oh...shit." Paul turned back swiftly, lifting the pan off the heat. John reached round past Paul and switched off both the burners. A frown creased Paul's face.  
"John!? What the...."  
John's lips were back on Paul's. He teased at the bottom lip, tugging, his fingers urgent through Paul's hair.  
"Want you..." he murmured into Paul's ear, swirling his tongue around as he did so. He felt Paul shiver. "Want you so much..."  
"But..."  
"The food can wait..." He began to tug Paul towards the bedroom without letting go of his waist which meant they had a very clumsy stumbling journey to the camp bed. John pushed Paul down and began divesting him of his jeans. Paul's lips curled in an amused smile.  
"What's brought this on?" he enquired as he ran his fingers through John's hair. Paul's jeans were flung over John's shoulder and hit the wall.  
"Want you...want you now..." John pushed his own jeans down while yet managing to hold Paul under him.   
"John? John, you okay? Mmph,,," Paul was silenced by a demanding kiss. John's fingers eagerly sought Paul's entrance, and he suddenly felt Paul's opposition recede as he melted into John's arms. "The pasta..."Paul half whispered, catching his breath as John entered him. John leaned up a little to look at his boyfriend.  
"It'll wait.." John assured him as he set up a steady rhythm. He felt Paul draw him in, enveloping him in warmth. John wanted Paul..all of him..every sensation he could offer, all at once, now. God how he loved this lad. He felt Paul's arms slip round him, under the t-shirt he still wore, slim fingers kneading his spine. The urgency was great, and he felt Paul respond. He leaned more heavily onto the body beneath him creating friction, and they came together, riding their orgasms in a white heat that made their toes curl and their stomachs clench. They came down together, a tangle of arms and legs.  
John shuddered, his head on Paul's chest. Through a satisfied haze he could feel Paul stroking his hair. He leaned up to see Paul with an amused smile on his face.  
"Have a bad day, did you?" Paul asked.  
Shit. It was back. That memory. Paul saw John's sudden withdrawal. His fingers paused their stroking.  
"John?"  
John leaned in, his fingers tracing the contours of Paul's face. He could see a small frown furrowing Paul's brow.  
"I love you" John leaned in and gently kissed Paul's lips "I love you so so much..."  
The frown disappeared. Paul's cheeks coloured, but John could see the reciprocal love in the dark eyes beneath him.   
"I know. I love you too...so so much.." 

"So...I thought..." Paul was mumbling as he tried to carry two hot plates to the table " that maybe on Saturday..." he paused to blow a stray lock of dark hair off his face.." that we could.." he put a plate down in front of John " we could go back to yours and put a couple of songs together. What d'you think?"  
John had been so enamoured of his lover that anything Paul said was going over his head. He suddenly realised Paul was waiting for a reply.  
"Er...sorry...what?"  
Paul emitted a theatrical sigh, and repeated his question.   
God, he's got a fantastic backside. John just had to reach out and stroke it before Paul sat on it.   
Mock impatiently, Paul batted him away.  
"John! I'm talking to meself here aren't I?"  
John gave a benign smile. "So, Paulie, tell me again. Why are we practicing?"  
Paul huffed and rolled his eyes. "Because somebodies asked me to play at a wedding reception. Just about a forty minute slot. Not long. Getting paid, y'know, and I thought we could have a go at some Everly Brothers stuff...if you want, that is?" Paul ended hopefully, batting his eyelashes at John. John shook his head.  
"How could I refuse you, Macca. Yeah, of course. Hope you know what we're doing."  
"Yeah, well" Paul expertly twirled his fork into the heated up spaghetti, wrinkling his nose at the fact it was now a little bit dry. Ah well..it had been a good making out session.   
"If I do some solos...like some instrumentals, and maybe we do a couple of spots together...." Paul gazed up at John from under his lashes. John had suddenly gone still. Paul's brow furrowed. "What's the matter? Is it shite?"  
John started guiltily. "No, oh no, it's fine." He swallowed a forkful to reinforce his statement. "It's just...at mine, you say. Is that safe? I mean, aren't you safer here?"  
Paul gave a wry grimace. "I can't hide away the rest of me life, John. Luke'll give up eventually." Paul viciously dug his fork into the spaghetti realising the futility of his words.  
No he won't, thought John.  
I bet he won't, thought Paul.

"Dean?" It was Sunday night and Paul had returned to George's. John and Ritchie were sitting together with a late night coffee.   
"Just came in, nice as pie...well, contradict that. He looked fucking nervous. I don't know if someone put him up to it, or if he really wanted to help."  
Ritchie stared thoughtfully into his coffee.  
"These...connections...that keep being mentioned. D'you know what they're on about?"  
"Nope!" John took a sip of his coffee. "No idea. It's like a word that's banded around. Is Paul safe at work?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Yeah, no problem there. They're well across it. He's always in post-surgery with Norman or the other guy that work's there..Ian, his name is. They're both okay. Greg's got his eye out an' all after what happened. I don't think they'll try the hospital again."  
John picked up the last part of Ritchie's statement.  
"You reckon they'll try again, though...don't you." It wasn't a question.  
They made eye contact. They could read the doubt. They could read the worry.  
"Fuck!" John muttered. There was silence for a moment.  
"Where d'you reckon?"  
"Here." John replied. "Here, 'cos they've not yet traced him back to George's. Mind you, I can see 'em doing that if they get desperate. It only needs someone to shadow you and Paul goin' back there after work, or someone seeing me or George meet him. I reckon they've got us all marked now. I figure they'll watch the pattern and bide their time."  
Ritchie couldn't help but shiver.  
"Thing is" John said "Paul's getting restless. Understandable really. He wants to go out and do things. Now me..I'm seeing people behind every fucking lamppost."  
"Getting as paranoid as me."  
"Yeah..you can say that again."  
"The fact is..." Ritchie went to say, then stopped, embarrassed. John looked at him curiously.  
"What?"  
"Well...Paul had used to go out. I mean...last October, was it, you picked him up at that pub and brought him back here.."  
Ritchie noticed John squirm...  
"Sorry, mate, didn't mean to embarrass you, but at that point in time you were bringing guys back most nights of the week. Paul was obviously going out then. What was with all that?"  
John twirled his mug, swirling the coffee. "Yeah. I spoke to Paul about that. Then Luke hadn't got wind of him...it's like Paul had vanished...an' Paul said he didn't like staying in the flat at night on his own when George was out, so he..he used to.." John found this hard to say, because Paul had looked so mortified when he explained his actions to John.." he used to let himself get picked up because at least he wasn't on his own for a night. Sounds stupid, doesn't it."  
Ritchie took it calmly. "Well, I guess Paul wasn't in a very good place at that particular time."  
"No..you can say that again. I guess neither of us were really when we first met. He got beaten up a few times too, y'know. I don't mean like when you first met George..that time..I mean, others. Nothing as serious, but..he got duffed up a bit."   
"Good job you two sorted your shit out, innit?" Ritchie grinned at John.  
John gave a beaming smile back.

George watched Paul like a hawk. He tried not to be obvious, but since the incident with Luke at the restaurant, the brick through the window, the two guys at the hospital   
who tried jumping Paul and then Dean with his warning to John that George and Ritchie..NOT Paul, knew about, he'd watched him. He watched him for any sign of depression..a big one in George's mind having seen Paul through one long dark year. He'd seen the spiral start the night a brick had gone through Ritchie's window, and knew that once it claimed Paul it was difficult to draw him out again. Fortunately it seemed having John around had prevented it from taking hold. There'd been a blip..just one little blip..and George had seen Paul fight back, refusing to give it a foothold again.   
George threw a goodly amount of cumin into the recipe he was attempting, his face grim. We're like a fucking accident about to happen. We're all waiting, everyone of us, not daring to voice our concerns, yet we know we're all in the same boat. Luke ain't gonna give up. If anything, he's only gonna be more determined to get Paul, and if he starts to get desperate, he won't care who gets hurt. George wondered if maybe they had traced Paul to this flat. After all, walking home in an evening amongst other commuters, it wouldn't be difficult for someone to follow you without you noticing. George threw more cumin in, then winced. Fuck...that was supposed to be turmeric.  
"Hi...I'm home" he heard Paul's cheery voice at the door, then a murmur as Paul obviously turned to talk to Ritchie. George shook his head. What on earth would they have done without Ritchie walking him back home everyday, and then walking the same distance again to get himself home.  
George manouevered his way to the front door to see Ritchie chatting to Paul.  
"Hi Ritch, hi Paul. All okay?"  
"Yeah, no yellow eyed monsters on our tail" Ritchie joked. George winced inwardly...had Ritchie been reading his mind.  
Paul turned to George.  
"Georgie, I'm going back with John tonight...he's gonna come and pick me up about nine. That okay?" Paul eyed George with concern, seeking permission.   
George laughed, even as his heart sank. "Christ, Paul, y'don't have to ask me..you're nearly twenty two! Course you can go back to John's if you want. " George glanced at Ritchie, a silent appeal in his eyes "You walking him to work then tomorrow?"  
Ritchie nodded understandingly. Paul sighed at this interaction.  
"Honestly, guys...."  
"No, Paul" said George firmly, without any humour, and Paul subsided.

Their love-making that night was slow and tender. They took time to explore each other, to talk, to cuddle. Cuddling. John had to smile at that. Something he'd never done, something Paul always did. And he was learning to reciprocate. Paul would do little things, like thread their fingers together, twirl the small amount of hair on John's chest as if he was trying to curl it. John captured Paul's fingers with a grin. Paul pouted back at him. So Paul attacked John's earlobe instead, swirling his tongue around the tender lobe.   
"Hey..you.." John batted him off. "Christ, Paul...how many hands do you have?"  
Paul looked at him in amusement. "That was my tongue."  
Paul's free hand slid up and down the inside of John's thigh....John had to smile. All this touching was something Paul did almost without thinking about, as if he could get nearer and nearer...John slung his arm around Paul and drew him down onto his chest. Paul nestled underneath John's chin with a sigh and began tiny breathy little kisses to John's adam's apple. John shook his head fondly, and gripped the naked body tighter. Paul backed off to look at him, a question in his eyes.  
"Not sleepy?"  
Paul's lips curved up at the corner, and he shook his head.  
"Paul...I'm in work tomorrow, an' it's nearly one in the morning."  
"You invited me over."  
"I didn't know I was inviting a sex maniac. Practice, you said."  
"Hm..hmm"  
"What kind of practice.."  
"Well"...Paul suddenly delved between John's legs, and after emitting a little squawk of surprise John gave a groan.  
"Jesus Christ, Paul...who taught you to do that..ohh..."

They were nearly at work, Ritchie and Paul. Only another corner to go round. It happened so quickly. The whole attack would have been less than a minute. There were people around, others going to work too. People in a constant flow. They were relying on a swift execution. Four guys. They appeared out of nowhere. One bore straight in on Ritchie and felled him with a blow to his stomach. Ritchie heard someone..a female voice...scream. From the corner of his eye he saw the other three move in on Paul. He didn't stand a chance. Ritchie tried to scream his name, but no sound came out. He saw a flash of something, a glint in the sunlight of steel, then Paul dropped to his knees. Ritchie struggled to move, to stand,...he could see feet running.. but something hit the back of his head, and all went black.


	38. Come together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..to quote Sgt Pepper, we're getting very near the end. When I started I wasn't sure if I could write an A.U....now I can't imagine finishing this...thanks to all who've taken the journey with me and for all the encouragement. Also..I actually did some research for this chapter, but please if you are a medic please don't be too critical if I have anything incorrect...after all, I'm a musician!

When Ritchie opened his eyes, he became aware of two things...one was a thumping headache, as if all the hammers in the world were intent in hitting him on the back of his head. The other was Trevor's worried face which swam into vision. Ritchie groaned audibly..his head REALLY hurt, and shut his eyes again. Something was nagging...what...what?...what!!...Jesus Christ, Paul! With another groan, Ritchie forced his eyes open to see Trevor still watching him, a frown etched on his face.   
Ritchie struggled to form words, the thump thump thump at the back of his head becoming a sledge hammer. He saw Trevor's frown deepen.  
"P..P..P.." shit..he wasn't functioning. He had to know..oh god, what if.."..P..P..Pa.."   
Trevor moved in closer.  
"Ssh, our Ritchie...you've had a nasty blow to the back of your head, son. Just take it easy."  
Ritchie summoned every ounce of strength he had, forced his eyes open, made the words come. Well, one word.   
"Paul?"  
He saw a shadow cross Trevor's face and his stomach plummetted. No...god, no.  
"He's in surgery at the moment.." Trevor was reluctant to say any more..Ritchie could sense that. He wanted to know more, but just couldn't find the the energy. Wearily he closed his eyes. Surgery. Surgery.  
Time must have passed, because next time he opened his eyes it was George sitting there. It occurred to Ritchie that George spent a lot of time sitting at hospital bedsides. Under different circumstances he might have found that fact amusing. The sledgehammer was still piling on the pressure. Ritchie observed George from under lowered lids. George looked miles away, unaware of the fact Ritchie had roused. Something made George look up, and he caught Ritchie's half closed glance. A sad smile touched George's face.  
"Hey, Ritchie..how y'doing?"  
Sad. Why did George look..oh god, no, no, please.  
"P..Paul?" he croaked. He felt as if he was holding his breath. George squeezed his hand firmly.  
"He's still in surgery." Still in surgery. How long had that been? How long since he'd seen Trevor. How bad was it? He could feel George's eyes on him. It was as if George sensed the question.  
"He's pretty bad, Ritchie..we don't.." he saw George collect himself " we don't yet know. They're doing their best."  
"There were three .." Ritchie whispered, the image burned in his mind "..three.. he didn't stand a chance."  
George squeezed his hand again.  
"The police are on to it..reckon they know who one was. There were lots of witnesses, but it all happened very fast. One witness said probably no more than thirty seconds. But people have given descriptions. How's your head?"  
Ritchie grimaced. "Bloody thumping.." His eyes were dragged shut by a heavy weight. Although he didn't sleep again he couldn't summon the energy to open his eyes. He could hear the murmur of soft voices which washed over him. They were reassuring. He let himself go.

It was dark. He must have woken in the night. Suddenly he was very thirsty. Having identified that fact, he really needed a drink. He struggled to sit up, and next moment a nurse was at his side.  
"You okay?" Her voice was soft. His vision was a bit blurry, but she sounded nice. Nice. All the nurses were nice.  
"Drink? " he muttered " Need a drink..water?"  
She disappeared and came back with a glass which she held to his parched lips. He drank gratefully, his vision clearing. He looked at his saviour, and she smiled warmly.  
"Better?"  
Ritchie frowned. "I know you..it's..it's.."  
"Charlotte" came the reply " but I just get called Lottie. How y' feeling."  
Ritchie's lips curved into a grin. "All the better for seeing you." God what a corny line! Then he swiftly admonished himself. Flirting..how could he flirt when..  
"Paul? Do you know how Paul is?"  
He sensed the withdrawal.  
"I..I'm not sure."  
"He's not still in surgery?"  
She shook her head. Ritchie looked at her intently.  
"I really need to know, Lottie." She was chewing her lip. Shit...Paul had that habit. "Please..." he pleaded. She nodded, having reached a decision in her own mind. She went in a rustle of uniform from his bedside. He leaned back on the pillows, his thirst assuaged. His mind was in a whirl though. He wouldn't be able to sleep until he..  
"He's out of surgery and currently in the I.C.U."  
Ritchie released a breath he didn't even know he was holding.  
"Is he gonna be okay?"  
Lottie shook her head. "I couldn't find anymore out, I'm sorry. We'll know more tomorrow. Try and get some rest."

This time it was John. John looked frazzled and drawn, as if he'd not slept. Paul meant such a lot to all of them, but especially to John. John. John. Ritchie must have said his name out loud, because John looked over at him, a tired smile creasing his lips.  
"Hiya Ritchie...how's the head, eh?"  
Never mind me head...Paul..Paul..I have to know. He struggled to sit up, fixing John with what he hoped was a glare. He could just about manage this..he had to know..  
"Paul?"  
John hummed. "He's in intensive care."  
Yes..and...and..Ritchie mentally asked the question he needed to know the answer to..John picked up the unspoken query.  
"We don't know yet. He was stabbed twice...one very deep. I understand that..well, it's grazed his liver, that's why they're worried. That's the risk."  
Ritchie eyes were full of sympathy.  
"We're just hopin' an'..an' prayin', y'know, he'll pull through. The staff have been superb.." John added brightly, as an afterthought.  
Ritchie reached out and took John's hand. John accepted the caress, and a solitary tear rolled down his cheek.  
"If he dies I'll fuckin' kill 'em all with me bare hands, I swear I will, Ritchie."  
The sledgehammer had set up residence again. Ritchie closed his eyes even as he gripped John's hand.  
"He won't die, John. We won't let him."

The police inspector surveyed George and John thoughtfully. He shifted on the uncomfortable plastic chair. A couple of odd characters here he had in front of him. He could almost see the protective shield that they'd thrown around the young man who'd been injured. It was his job to worm his way in, to get their trust, to cajole, to encourage. This had been a particularly vicious attack in broad daylight on a busy street.....it smacked of desperation on the part of the attackers...of the need to remove someone...and in the inspector's mind there were probably many complicated layers to this case. It could be if they managed to crack through they may find not just one but many unsolved crimes suddenly explained.  
"Why?" Inspector Thompson asked them both "Why Paul? What has he done? Or more to the point what did he know?"  
George and John squirmed. They looked at each other. The Inspector drove on forcefully.  
"If your young friend dies we will be dealing with a murder case. And it's very likely that the one wielding the knife is not the person we're actually looking for? Am I right in my assumption? I assume you would not want the instigator to escape scot free?"  
The Inspector smiled grimly at them. "I need you both to be truthful to me because...well, we could wait, and interview Paul, if he recovers...which I hope he does...but by then the trail will be cold. Do you have an idea who is behind this?"  
John balled his fists in his lap. The truth that Paul tried so hard to hide, the past that he'd run from....was it his and George's place to expose that? And yet, if, heaven forbid, anything happened to Paul, then justice would never be done unless...John looked across at George and saw the same thoughts flashing through his head.   
John took a deep breath. "His name is Luke Stanton."

Although the Inspector had not shown it, he had been somewhat shocked to hear that name. Luke was a friend of one of the chief inspectors high up in the chain of Liverpool's Metropolitan Police. Inspector Thompson himself had met Luke on a couple of occasions. As he interviewed George and John and Paul's story unfolded before him, warning bells began to ring. He was going to keep this investigation under close wraps, and do some investigation of his own. It would seem, listening to these two young men talk, that this investigation could open a veritable Pandora's Box...not that he was going to let them, or anyone else, know that yet. First, he had to talk to someone very high up...someone he knew well, someone who would listen and take him seriously.

As Paul's eyes fluttered open, he saw John. John's eyes were locked on him, his thumb stroking the fingers of Paul's right hand. Paul's lips curved upwards in a smile...he didn't take his eyes off John.  
"Hi..." his voice was a bare whisper.   
John grinned back, "Hiya you. Leading us all a merry dance again aren't you."  
Paul felt the comfort of the pillows behind him, the touch of John's fingers on him. He sighed. Despite the discomfort he felt he was content. The painkillers had him somewhere in a woozy hinterland. Something had happened. It was too much effort to think what that thing was. He heard a voice behind John, and the burly figure of Trevor homed into view.  
Trevor said something to him, but he couldn't catch the words. He smiled beatifically at him instead. An amused smile touched John's face, and Paul heard him murmur something to Trevor about drugs. Drugs. Hmm. Paul's hazy mind drifted. Drugs. I used to drop drugs off to other guys. Shouldn't have done that. It was illegal.  
"Paul?"   
He tried to focus on whoever was talking to him. George? When did George get here? It had been John a moment ago.  
"I shouldn't have done that" Paul murmured. George exchanged a worried glance with John. John shook his head.  
"Done what, Paul?" John! It was John again. Where had George gone? This was such an effort.  
"Drugs...I shouldn't have dropped drugs..it's not good."  
George stepped in quickly. "No it wasn't but it wasn't your fault. Luke made you do it."  
Paul's breath hitched. Luke. Luke made him do things. Paul shifted in the bed, as if drawing up into himself. Luke.  
"I didn't want to.."  
George and John exchanged another glance.  
"He's rambling" John declared unnecessarily.  
"Paul, you don't have to worry any more. Luke's gone."  
Not nice things. Paul's mind tried to turn from the memories. He drew himself protectively into a foetal position.  
George and John watched him for a moment, then began to chat quietly It had been a surreal few days, and not one they would ever want to live through again.   
Luke had been involved in drug smuggling...but involved with him, making sure all went smoothly, and that the eyes of the police force had been diverted elsewhere, had been one of the top chief inspectors...who had creamed off an extensive amount of wealth over the years. It had been a well guarded and successful drug ring, involving quite a few notable people. It had been like watching a pack of dominoes collapse. Along with the drugs had been traded illegal alcohol and pornography. Although George and John were certainly not going to comment, it became brazenly obvious to them why Luke had wanted Paul back. Now Luke...and another one of the gang...were dead. It had been likes rats deserting a sinking ship. There had been panic, scuffles, fights, a great number of arrests, and, after the dust had settled, two dead bodies.   
"I would have liked to have brought him to justice" Inspector Thompson had said, referring to Luke.  
George and John had just shrugged. He was now out of Paul's life, and that was all that mattered to them.  
"John?" Paul's voice was quiet, a murmur. George and John stopped talking. John leaned over and extracted Paul's hand from where it nestled under his chin.  
"Yes Paul?"  
Paul's eyes were sleepy, drugged up and hazy.  
"I love you."  
John struggled, tears suddenly streaming down his face, but he kept his voice calm. "I love you too, y'daft bugger."  
Next to him, George stroked his arm soothingly.

"How y' feeling Ritch?"  
"Never again will I complain about a headache, Trev. Be bloody good to get back to work."  
"Sorry, son, another couple of days, I was told, before you can start again. Y'can come and have a coffee with me if y'like, though."  
"Will do. But I'm, err, off out tonight." Ritchie sounded sheepish. Trevor looked up, intrigued.  
"Oh, aye, what's her name, then?"  
Ritchie blushed. "Charlotte. Lottie, y'know, on the Men's Ward. "  
Trevor guffawed. "You jammy little sod. Now there's one way of hooking a girl. Well, hope y'ave a lovely time. Where y'taking her?"  
"Pictures...seemed okay, like, for a first date."  
Trevor shook his head.  
"I wish you joy. How's your little friend doing, eh? He's bloody lucky to be alive, y'know. Thought I'd have to be the bearer of bad news when you were upstairs."  
"He's doing okay...saw him earlier. He's still drugged up to the eyeballs...doesn't know what planet he's on half the time, but..yeah, he's okay."  
"Hmph" Trevor considered "You've got a real odd bunch of friends there Ritchie, but you look out for one another, doncha?"  
"We do, Trevor, we do."

"This is really important"  
The sister on the ward kept her face perfectly straight, but John could see the twinkle in her eye.  
"And what would it be worth to bend rules, Mr Lennon?" John could almost, but not quite, hear her toe tapping.   
He shuffled uncomfortably. "Er...I dunno. Please? It would mean such a lot."  
She shook her head, a smile touching her lips. "I really don't know how we'll manage it, but...well, I expect we can give it a go. And what time would this be?"  
"Well...I can get off work early...me boss said he'd take over for me. About four?"  
"Hmm...no later, or you'll be running into tea time."  
"Thanks, Missus" John's face lit up. The sister shook her head.

Paul was sitting up in bed, still looking very pale, still in quite a lot of pain without medication, but mentally he felt so much better. The threat of Luke removed from his life had done wonders to improve his health. George and Ritchie were at his bedside, and he'd put the birthday cards they'd brought for him on his bedside cabinet. Although chatting to them, nonetheless he had one eye out for John's arrival. John had promised him something special for today, and it was now almost the end of visiting. John had hinted at the fact he'd be allowed a few extra minutes, and Paul was curious. George and Ritchie were well aware that not all of Paul's concentration was on them. But they were in on the secret, so it didn't matter. The bell rang the five minute warning for the end of visiting, and Paul sighed...looked like John hadn't managed to get off work early after all. Suddenly, at the entrance to the ward there was a rumpus, and John came charging down the aisle bearing...a triple coned ice-cream. Paul's mouth dropped open, and George and Ritchie burst out laughing.  
Licking the drips up off his fingers, John thrust it at Paul.  
"Happy birthday, son."  
Paul took it in astonishment. "What..when..how..when.."  
"Paul, just shut up and eat it...it's melting. Ask questions later."  
There were ripples of amusement and happy birthday murmurs from around the men's ward from visitors and patients alike.  
Paul ran his tongue round the cone, licking up the drips, then swirled his tongue around the strawberry, chocolate and vanilla dollops.  
"I didn't know what flavours so..I guessed" said John, watching Paul enjoy it.  
"Mm..it's lovely.." Paul was thoroughly enjoying it, and caught sight of the ward sister watching him.  
"Did you know?" he asked. She nodded with a smile.  
Paul looked at John with adoring eyes. "You remembered."  
"Course I did...Calderstones Park, a triple cone and a cup of tea. Well, the park'll have to wait, but..."  
John stopped, horrified...a solitary tear made it's way down Paul's cheek, swiftly followed by a stream of others.  
"Paul?" John dropped to his boyfriend's side "Paul, love?"  
"I can't help it" Paul hiccuped and smiled through his tears "I'm so happy."


	39. And in the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter...then maybe one more...thanks for being with me on this journey....gulp...sob...don't want it to end...

Rob watched a grim faced John sorting through the records. It was obvious watching him that his mind was elsewhere. Rob cleared his throat to get John's attention, but it didn't work. Finally Rob pushed himself off the door jamb he'd been leaning on and said John's name.  
"John?"  
Startled, John looked up. Rob could see him mentally gather his scattered thoughts before he responded.  
"Oh..hi. How y' doing?"  
"I feel I should ask you that. You've had a whirlwind existence over the last coupla weeks...are things settling down now?"  
John heaved an enormous sigh, and ran a hand over his mussed up auburn curls.  
"Well...yeah, I guess they are. It's just..y'know, I feel as if there's a mixer inside me still churning...like I can't come down from it all."  
Rob looked suspiciously at John, then glanced at his watch.  
"Time for a coffee 'fore y'go?"  
John looked at his watch also. He wanted to visit Paul...although he knew Luke was no longer around, John found he still needed to convince himself of Paul's physical safety by seeing him each day.  
"Well..I'm visiting Paul at..."  
Rob cut in "I'll give y' a lift. We've not chatted for ages."  
John gave a resigned smile...this was, after all, his boss.  
"Yeah, okay then."  
Rob noted the reluctance. He was fond of John with his larger than life character. He knew John had been through a really difficult time, and had seen first hand the difference having Paul in his life had made. He slung a brotherly arm around John's rigid shoulders, gave a squeeze, and directed him towards the stairs that led to the flat above.  
"Jacob's not home for at least an hour. Let's lock up early and have a chin wag."

Five minutes later, seated across the table from Rob with a coffee, John stared thoughtfully into the dark depths, a small frown creasing his brow.  
"So, John, how's Paul doing?"  
At the mention of his boyfriend's name, John brightened.  
"He's doing okay. Out of danger, healing well. They say it'll take a while, but..." John had a sudden thought "Oh God, you're thinking about the lessons here."  
Rob raised an eyebrow "Er, no, actually, I wasn't. It was just a general enquiry. I emailed everyone on Paul's list and told them no lessons till further notice " Rob saw a relieved look cross John's face. "I'm not a mercenary, John, you should know that. I just wondered how you an' Paul were doing, is all. And, of course, Ritchie and George."  
A genuine smile crossed John's face at the mention of Ritchie's name.  
"Well...Ritchie has only gone and got himself a girlfriend."  
"A girlfriend?"  
"Yeah...typical situation. She was his nurse."  
They both laughed. It was a relief to laugh. John felt some of the tenseness leave him.  
"And Paul?"  
"Yeah, doing okay. He's still on a lot of medication...doesn't know what he's rambling on about half the time, but he'll be okay. Eventually."  
"No after effects?"  
"Hmm..not said. He won't be allowed to lift anything for a while...gotta take it easy, y'know."  
"What about?..." Rob swirled his finger round his head, and John frowned for a moment.  
"Oh, you mean.."  
John sighed. "I dunno. Paul keeps things very close to his chest. I think he's probably relieved it's all over without him having to witness to anything that went on."  
"And you?"  
Well, wasn't this just the crux.  
"I don't feel Luke was ever properly brought to justice. An' that's what's frustrating me. Everything he ever did and allowed to happen to Paul an' he's just..dead, now. I wanted to confront him, y'know? I wanted to have him to meself....'course, that was never gonna happen, but I wanted to see him dragged over the mud in front of everyone."  
"Including your boyfriend?"  
John chewed his lip. "No....not in front of Paul. It would have been too embarrassing for him."  
"Are the police aware of what went on, and how Paul was involved?"  
"I'm not sure. I think they have an idea...they spoke to George, y'know....but they haven't mentioned interviewing Paul. Anyway, he's not up to it."  
"Does he know Luke's dead?"  
John took a sip of his coffee and nodded.  
"Yeah..yeah, he does."  
"So...what, exactly, happened? I understand it was quite a big racket?"  
"Jesus, you can say that again. They did a raid on a warehouse...the police had watched it and bided their time until quite a few of the ring were there. Some of the guys tried to run, Luke included...he was in a car with someone else driving, and the guy panicked and drove them straight into the brick wall. They said Luke was dead on impact...a broken neck." John swirled the coffee mug between his hands. "He gave Paul over three years of hell, and he gets his come uppance in a few minutes. See what I mean" John glared at Rob " where's the justice in that?"  
"Well..he is dead, John.."  
"Yeah..and.."  
"...and Paul is free of him. If he'd been imprisoned instead, always...always there would have been the threat of him coming out hanging over you...and, more to the point, hanging over Paul. Maybe it was better this way."  
John absorbed this observation quietly. Finally, he nodded.  
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe. I hadn't thought of it like that."  
"How long till Paul's discharged?"  
"Don't know. They've not yet said..."

"So, young man, how are you feeling?"  
The words cut through the muddy thoughts swirling around Paul's brain. It was like a certain part of him could hear and understand perfectly well, but the response mechanism wasn't quite working properly. He struggled to sit up more, in order to acknowledge he had at least understood, but a firm hand pressed down on his shoulder.  
"Ssh..just relax. Don't try sitting up yet."  
Paul forced his heavy eyelids open and focused on a white-coated doctor perched on the edge of his bed, clipboard in hand. Once the doctor knew Paul had him in vision, he gave an encouraging smile.  
"How are you feeling? Any pain?"  
Pain? The doctor saw a vacant expression cross Paul's face.  
"How many fingers am I holding up?"  
Paul tried very hard before they wrote him off as an imbecile.  
"Three" he murmured, though it required a lot of effort. The doctor nodded, and Paul felt a surge of reassurance.  
"Can you hear me okay?" Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the doctor's face, Paul nodded.  
"Okay, Paul. So...you're healing well...that's good, isn't it?" Paul nodded again, hoping the doctor would be brief before he succumbed to the all-invading tiredness he continually felt at the moment.  
"No plans to discharge you yet. At the moment you're on heavy medication for pain relief...that's why you will be feeling so sleepy, yes?"  
Paul tried to smile, but wasn't sure if his lips worked. Maybe it came out as more of a grimace.  
"As soon as we can, we'll start reducing the medication. But it's up to you to tell us how you feel, do you understand?"  
Understand? The doctor looked quite urgent, so Paul nodded again, hoping he'd understood.  
"We'll monitor you regularly, and the nurse will ask you what pain you're experiencing on a scale of one to ten...ten being quite bad, one being not much. Are you following?"  
The doctor noted a spasm of panic cross Paul's face, so he repeated the sentence again. He was reassured by Paul's response this time.  
"Okay." The doctor squeezed Paul's forearm encouragingly, and glanced around the small space, noting the many cards that had been pinned up.  
"A lot of get well wishes I see."  
This time Paul's smile was bright.  
"The advantage of working here, eh? Everyone knows you, and visitors out of normal hours too" The doctor added as he spotted Trevor drawing near.  
"Aye up...how's he doing? Can I put him back on shift for tomorrow? Bit short staffed."  
Paul felt his eyes droop....he knew Trevor was joking. Trevor would happily sit by Paul's bed and chatter away about all the gossip and goings-on, and only required Paul to listen. He was a very easy visitor for Paul to have. Now John....Paul drew his breath in. He could sense the angst still there in John, and as yet didn't have the strength to discuss anything with him. He loved him. He loved that auburn haired lad like he'd never loved anyone else. He wanted to tell him. He was gonna get better. For John, he was gonna get better.

"What did they ask you about?"  
"Paul's involvement..how much he knew, what his part had been in the whole situation.."  
"An' what did you say?" John's eyes bore into George as if they'd lay him bare.  
George looked at John, and paused before replying. "I told them everything, John."  
John's breath hitched slightly. "Everything?"  
George nodded solemnly. "Everything. Everything that Paul had ever told me. I didn't see any sense in hiding anything. It would only have made it worse for Paul...look like he was hiding something."  
"So..." John's breath caught "...they...know?"  
George's voice was patient. "Yes, John."  
"Everything?" he needed to clarify this.  
"Everything" George confirmed.  
John was silent for a moment as he absorbed this information.  
"An'...what did they say? Are they gonna have to interview Paul?"  
George shrugged. "Dunno. Possibly, if only to confirm everything I've told them."  
John winced inwardly. Fuck. That was the last thing Paul needed. Everything being dredged up again to be picked over.  
"So...is he likely to face charges?"  
George hummed hesitantly. "Not sure, but it's probable. It was a really understanding guy that interviewed me..." George added, brightening a little.  
"Make no difference if he's nice or not if they still charge Paul with..what?...With what?"  
"Drug dealing"  
"Fuck!"  
"He said Paul would have been an 'accessory to the crime' and that the criminal justice system couldn't just turn a blind eye to that, no matter what had gone on after."  
John balled his fingers into his fists, then exhaled a breath he'd not been aware he was holding.  
"Having said that" George added softly "He did say that extenuating circumstances would be taken into consideration."  
John looked up at him, wide-eyed, questioning.  
George smiled. "Because of what Luke did...they'll bear that in mind."  
"Jesus Christ...as if he's not been through enough already."  
George could see the anger simmering in John. The anger that had not yet found an outlet. Having to make that phone call to John on that fateful morning. Trevor had rung George in a complete meltdown, and George had immediately contacted John. For all they had known then, Paul could have been a goner. He'd lost so much blood, and was still bleeding profusely upon his arrival at the hospital, which, thank God, had literally been round the corner, otherwise he may well not have survived.  
Ever empathetic, George reached over and covered John's hands that were drawn into fists.  
"Let it go" he murmured. John looked at him in bewilderment.  
"What?"  
"Let it go, John. Your anger. Your rage. Don't hang on to it. It'll only destroy you. Paul's okay...he's gonna be alright in the end. He needs you to be whole. What happened with Luke is gone...dead and buried with him. It's time to move on. You've got Paul to think about....sometimes you have to throw your anger to the wind, not harbour it. Paul loves you...you know that. In the end you got him, not Luke."  
John looked down at George's hands that covered his. When he looked back up at George his eyes were moist.  
"I did, didn't I"  
George looked at him, a query in his eyes.  
"I got Paul, in the end."


End file.
